


Demolition Lovers

by Rocktoberfest



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: Angst, But like in a house fire sort of way, Cunnilingus, Dom/sub, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, I finally moved this bad boy over from fanfiction.net, Mostly Plot with a little Porn, No one asked for it but I am here to deliver anyway, Slow Burn, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, but like BDSM lite, coffee shop AU, for the record the graphic violence is not domestic violence, joker is here to break Harley's mind in this one not her body
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:54:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 156,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25369426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rocktoberfest/pseuds/Rocktoberfest
Summary: It started with coffee. Fours cups, black, with steam dancing pirouettes off the placid surface. The rest...well, he put her up to the rest. (In which Harley has fallen on hard times and is working as a barista, and Joker comes along to sweep her into his chaos like a tornado.)
Relationships: Joker (DCU)/Harleen Quinzel
Comments: 47
Kudos: 54





	1. Suffer the Children, Come Unto Me

“What's a pretty little thing like you  
Doin' in this dingy old back room?  
I've got some candy  
A piece for every bruise."

~Brendan Kelly and the Wandering Birds "Suffer the Children, Come Unto Me"

\---

It was Monday morning and she was running late.

That was how days like this always started, wasn't it? First you wake up to the sound of gunshots, look at your alarm clock to realize it's 4:30 in the morning, you were supposed to be awake at 4, and pray to every god you can think of that you somehow can manage to catch the train to make it to work on time.

Those were the only kinds of days Harley seemed to be having lately, the ones where everything started falling apart before she had even opened her eyes.

By some miracle she managed to catch the 5:15 train. Unfortunately, she also managed to forget her umbrella and the near-constant rain in the Narrows showed her no mercy. Out of breath and heart pounding, she managed to run the three blocks from the subway station to the coffee shop she worked in, and slipped in the door at exactly 5:59. Just barely not-late. Thank goodness.

At the sound of the bell, there came a rush of footsteps and Harley's boss, Annika, came running from the back room, only to roll her deep brown eyes when she realized it was not a customer. Offering a weak smile, Harley did her best to not look exhausted as she began sweeping her rain-drenched hair away from her face.

"Good morning to you too, Ann." It was meant to be a joke, but came out as more of a desperate wheeze.

"You look like you were hit by the fucking subway," Annika said in way of greeting. "You okay?"

Panting for breath, Harley still managed a laugh as she began to peel off her coat. "You'd look like hell if you'd just run three blocks in the rain too."

Making a sympathetic noise, Annika pointed to the carafe of freshly brewed coffee on the counter behind her. "The plight of us poor fucks that live in the Narrows. 'Least your really nice manager already made the first pot of coffee so you wouldn't have to."

Grinning, Harley shuffled past the counter and leaned into the back room to hang her coat on a peg. "You spoil me, dearest."

"Damn right I do. Now drink some coffee, catch your breath, and make yourself pretty before the morning rush gets here."

"Aye, aye, Captain." And with a mocking salute, Harley began her morning work routine.

She poured herself a cup of coffee from the carafe before moving to put on her apron. Her long blonde hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail and she fixed her eyeliner in the back room before bringing a fresh bag of coffee beans to the front to be ground. She and Ann made small talk as the two of them buzzed around the shop preparing for the morning rush. Which was to say that Harley complained at length about her roommate, and Ann made sympathetic noises where they were appropriate.

Around seven the rush came, the familiar faces of the folks in the Narrows lucky enough to be able to afford to buy a latte on the way to work. Around ten the rush went. This morning ritual was so familiar to Harley that she could almost predict the exact moment the rush would die, and knew that it would pick up again around 11:30. It was during this lull that Annika always ran to the bank, leaving Harley to tend to the few drifters that might make an appearance. 

Today was particularly slow and Harley busied herself with brewing fresh pots of coffee and doing the few dishes that were lying around in attempts to stay awake. She was on her third cup of coffee, but there was really only so much caffeine could do for the amount of exhaustion she was experiencing. Working nearly three weeks straight in attempts to pay rent was clearly starting to take its toll.

The bell chimed and Harley looked up to see a man enter the shop. He was tall, even with his shoulders hunched against the rain. Stringy brown curls were violently shaken out of his face, and he caught Harley's gaze with eyes so black she swore he was a void ready to suck her in. She almost took a step back, but caught herself before moving to the register.

"Good morning, sir." The bright greeting strained her throat and when she smiled the muscles in her face ached. "What can I get for you?"

His eyes darted away from her to the menu board above her head and it was only then that she got a good look at him. Handsome face, well defined cheekbones, and…scars. Scars on either side of his mouth to form what almost looked like a smile. Those black eyes caught hers again and she immediately glanced down at the register.

Silence started to stretch between them, thick and awkward. There was no one else in the shop and she knew damn well he had caught her staring at the puckered scar tissue around his mouth. Perhaps she should apologize? After all she'd been staring and it was rude, but bringing it up would probably just make things worse. With scars like that he probably got nothing but stares and whispers, and now Harley was part of the problem.

She couldn't stand how loud her thoughts were through the silence.

"Quite a storm out there, isn't it?" she said, eyes still focused on the fading keys of the register.

Nothing. Not even a goddamn smile.

Anxiously she looked up at him and that gaze of his snapped back to her, crushing her under its weight. She tried to read them for something, anything to make the silence less awkward, but his face was blank and menacing.

Eventually he brought a hand up to his mouth and cleared his throat, raising his eyebrows almost apologetically. "Uh, four large coffees. Black."

Letting out a breath Harley didn't realize she'd been holding, she began to work her fingers on the keys of the register to ring up his order, which he paid for with a crisp hundred-dollar bill. Fucking asshole. It was a damn good thing the morning had been busy. Usually they didn't have change to break bills that big. As it stood, she had to give him part of his change in fives, which seemed to amuse him. He stood there smirking at her the whole time she counted back the change, those black eyes staring holes into the top of her bowed head.

Trying not to fume, Harley turned to the counter behind her and began preparing his order.

"Room for cream or sugar?" The question left her lips automatically. It was like a programmed response, hardwired into her brain. But it caught his attention, had him raising a sardonic eyebrow at her.

"What does 'black' imply, sugar?" His tone was teasing, but the slow lilt with which he spoke had her skin crawling.

When she looked up at him he was grinning, but there was no humor in it. That smile was just as empty and soulless as his eyes. It made the scars on his cheeks tug awkwardly and she swore it looked like the very effort caused him pain. Glancing down at her shoes, Harley shrugged and turned back to pouring his coffee. Four cups filled to the brim with steaming black liquid were loaded into a little cardboard carrier and she slid them across the counter to him with a plastic smile and forced, "Thank you."

With a nod, he took the coffee and left wordlessly.

As soon as he was out the door, Harley felt she could breathe again. It was as if that man's very presence made the air stand still in terror. He was haunting, menacing even. She wondered how the hell he managed to keep friends around. Probably his money, and the fact he was bringing them coffee. Only an asshole with money to show off waltzed into a café, bought one of the cheapest things on the menu, and paid with big bills. Somehow she felt as though even the money wouldn't be enough to convince her to willingly spend more than a few minutes at a time with that man.

As she went on with her day, the memory of those eyes seemed to have been burned into her mind. She had no idea who he was, had never seen him around before. Not a huge surprise in a city as large as Gotham, but certainly odd for a coffee shop mostly supported by patrons that came in regularly. Maybe he was new in town? Or, at least, new to this part of town. She had questions, far more than she had any right to. Somewhere deep down she hoped he would return simply so that she could get answers to a few of them.

And he didn't disappoint.

For the rest of the week he showed up every day like clockwork. The morning rush died down, Ann left for the bank, and that man would come in all hunched shoulders and piercing eyes. He'd order his black coffee, Harley would attempt to get some answers from him by disguising it in chit chat, and he would avoid answering as he took his coffee and left. At least he was paying in smaller bills now. Probably change from his first visit.

On Sunday Harley finally got a day off, which she spent most of sleeping. At some point in the afternoon she heard her roommate, Brianna, come and go, but didn't bother getting up to say hello. They had barely spoken since Harley's first week of moving in. Their schedules were nearly opposite and, as it turned out, they didn't have much in common. That was what she got for finding a roommate through an ad in the paper. A fragile balance was maintained in the house where the two of them came and went almost entirely as if the other did not exist. It worked for them, they didn't fight, and most of the time it felt as though Harley lived completely alone. Had she been able to afford living alone, she probably would have found a place of her own a long time ago.

When she returned on Monday life seemed ever so slightly brighter for having slept so long the day before. The morning rush came and went and at 10:15 sharp, when the mysterious new regular came in, the smile she greeted him with was genuine.

"Four black coffees?" she guessed before he even had a chance to order.

Cocking his head to the side, he stared at her for a long moment before nodding. He paid in silence, as usual, but it didn't stop Harley from going on about how nice it was to actually have the sun coming in the windows today. She could feel his eyes on her, the way he watched her every movement as though she were a lab rat he was challenging to a new maze. It didn't stop her, didn't even dam her flow of words long enough for her to realize he was chuckling. A low, deep sound crawled up his throat as though from some dark depths that were not often reached. It wasn't until Harley turned around with his coffee in hand that she noticed the smile and the way his shoulders shook under that quiet laugh.

For a moment she hesitated, her words coming to a halt as she slid the coffee across the counter. Her brow furrowed and her face grew red, but still that laughter didn't stop. She was about to ask him what the hell was so funny when he shook his head and moved to take his order from her.

"Day off did you good, didn't it, sugar?" His voice was low and even, almost pleasing.

Not missing a beat, Harley shrugged. "Caught up on some much needed rest. Why? Did you miss me yesterday?"

That smile of his only grew. His palms brushed over her fingers and she was surprised at the warmth of his skin. "Don't flatter yourself, sweetheart. The girl yesterday just, uh, didn't brew this coffee nearly as well as you do."

His tongue snaked out across his lips, and when they locked eyes Harley felt the pull of that void again. "Bet she left room for cream and sugar too."

The breath he let out had a laugh on it that didn't quite make its way past his lips. There was a quiet pop and she realized he'd been sucking on the scar tissue on the inside of his cheek. "Yep."

For just a moment longer he held her gaze before turning with his coffee in a rush and heading out the door.

Trying to ignore the way her skin was still electric from contact with him, Harley leaned heavily against the counter and watched through the window as his tall form disappeared into the crowd.

Annika returned shortly after and Harley jumped at the chance for a break. Still feeling confused from her encounter with her new regular, she made her way outside and slumped against the brick building. Briefly she considered allowing herself to smoke, but then remembered how good she had been at quitting. It had been nearly four days since her last cigarette and she was doing a damn fine job of keeping herself in check. It was one less thing to spend her sparse earnings on.

Her cell phone buzzed in her pocket and she glanced down to read the text. It was from Brianna, a short and sweet three words that had her heart speeding up and pounding against her ribcage. Fuck quitting, she deserved a goddamn cigarette now. Because there, brightly illuminated on the screen, were the three words bound to send her life into a downward spiral.

"I'm moving out."

\---

When Harley arrived home that night, there was no sign of Brianna, or her stuff. She was gone, like a fucking ghost. An envelope on the counter had a half-hearted note of apology about the short notice and her half of bills for the week. At least she'd been decent enough to leave that. With a quiet curse under her breath, Harley realized she had probably been planning this for some time.

Her heart sank at that, breathing felt like too much effort and she splayed her palms on the cracked granite of the countertop.

This…this was what defeat felt like, wasn't it? Not only had she been forced to drop out of grad school because she was too poor to pay what student loans didn't cover, she was working a dead end job at a coffee shop and still couldn't make ends meet. There was a chance, a very slim chance, that Annika would allow her to work a few doubles during the week, but no matter how she spun that idea it still didn't seem like enough. Her pay wouldn't be enough to cover the other half of rent, let alone buy food, or have any sort of extra spending money. Hell, she probably wouldn't even have money for the subway and would have to find a way to walk to work. It made her regret selling her bike last winter.

The thought occurred to her that she could try her hand at painting again. After all, her bachelor's degree had been in visual art. Selling a few paintings would at least make her enough to get a month-long subway pass. Then she could pick up the odds and ends, all while praying work made her enough each paycheck to pay rent and bills. Despite the cynical voice in her mind that told her she wouldn't have time to paint if she planned on working doubles, she knew deep down she had to try something. Anything was better than lying down and accepting defeat.

Life knew just how to kick her when she was down, and this time she refused to let it.

That night she sat in her living room with the easel she could never bring herself to get rid of. Into the early hours of the morning, she worked tirelessly on a landscape rendering of Gotham. The bright lights of the city glowed beneath a full moon and just for kicks she painted the Batman's signal shining against a cloud. She liked it there. It made her feel safe.

She managed to get two blessed hours of sleep before rising for work the following morning. Her feet seemed to drag under the weight of her stress and exhaustion, but she made it to work on time and went about her morning routine per usual. Things seemed to fall into place and by the time the day started to pick up she had almost managed to convince herself that things were not as bleak as they appeared.

Morning rush, mid-morning lull, Annika ran to the bank, and then…

She waited.

It was unclear to her why she waited, exactly, but she did. He was part of her morning routine now. Some warped part of her looked forward to those little one-ended chats of theirs. That man was an enigma, quiet and mysterious and absolutely captivating. Somehow in their brief week together he had managed to weasel his way into Harley's mind and popped into her thoughts more often than was probably appropriate.

He was handsome, even with those scars on his cheeks. Harley had never been one to let physical attractiveness go unnoticed and she quietly appreciated the beauty in everyone around her. Somehow this new customer had managed to really draw her attention and she would be lying if she pretended she hadn't been just a tiny bit curious as to what he would look like in some well fitted clothes rather than the baggy t-shirts and oversized coats he liked to come in with. Maybe a nice suit would do him good.

The bell chimed and Harley nearly choked on her coffee. Speak of the devil…

Today he was wearing a business suit, of sorts. There was a tacky lavender shirt beneath a navy jacket and a matching tie around his neck. He looked damn good.

"Well, aren't you dressed up this morning?" She couldn't help the grin that spread across her face, or the wave of disappointment that followed when he didn't return it.

In fact, he looked at her like she downright repulsed him. Like she had some strange growth, or was sprouting fangs. It gave her that same uneasiness that she'd felt the first time he'd come in, made her feel like his gaze was dissecting her. One vicious swipe with a scalpel and he'd see all of her insides and assess each organ individually.

"F-four coffees?" Her lips pressed into a thin line and she began ringing him up for his usual order after he made a low sound of agreement in his throat.

As she prepared his order, she didn't speak. There was something absolutely soul crushing in the way he'd snubbed her this morning. Between that and the ever-lingering feeling of doom that now hovered above her head, she didn't have the will in her to speak.

Her lack of chattering didn't seem to bother him and when she turned around with his coffee, those dark eyes were fixed on her in a glare so violent she nearly gasped. What the hell had she done? Was he angry because she pointed out that he actually looked really nice today? That was bullshit. It made her angry to even look at him.

Sliding the coffee across the counter, she couldn't even bring herself to thank him for his business. Just watched him cock his head at her and take the coffee without a sound. He was gone in an instant, and with him her last string of hope that she could hold herself together today.

Life, once again, had found a new and creative way to piss on her spirits.

For the next four days he didn't come in. It would have bothered Harley had she not been too stubborn to admit she noticed his absence. After the way he had acted during his last visit, she nearly hoped he wouldn't come back at all.

No one should have the power to make her feel so inferior, especially not a customer.

Sure he was quiet, but most people were their first few times visiting a new café. Her regulars were her friends. They appreciated her, told her their morning wouldn't be complete without her smile and excellent lattes. Those were the kind of people she liked having in the shop, the kind of person she so desperately wished he would be.

Had she not been on the receiving end of it, it would have fascinated her how small he managed to make her feel. Not even the businessmen that came in acting like they were the absolute center of the universe managed to throw her off the way he did. There was something about him that managed to get under her skin every time they were in the same space. Yet the last time he came in, she may as well have been dirt on the bottom of his worn shoes with the way he had ignored her attempts to be friendly. How could one nameless man make her feel so incredibly insignificant?

She swore that if he ever dared to show his face again she would give him the exact same treatment.

But he came back. Of course he came back.

When he waltzed in on Friday with a well-fitted black suit and charming smile, she hardly gave him a second glance. He approached the counter, seemingly waiting for her greeting, and when it didn't come a frown briefly crease his face.

"No bright good morning today, sugar?" His eyes flicked across her face before meeting her eyes. Lowering his head, he gave her a look of feigned sympathy. "Are you upset I haven't come to visit you the past few days?"

Not quite meeting his eyes, Harley shrugged. "Four black coffees?"

"And one of those muffins." He nodded his head at the glass case full of pastries. "The blueberry ones look deee-licious." Pressing his lips together, he seemed to hold back a giggle that shook his shoulders.

Trying not to roll her eyes, Harley added the muffin to his order. "Do you want it in a to-go bag?"

Shaking his head, he glanced at the empty tables behind him. "Nope. Think I'll eat here."

With a passive nod, Harley finished the transaction and handed him a plate with a blueberry muffin before moving to prepare his coffee. As she handed them over, she felt a twinge of guilt for acting so rude. Maybe he'd been having a bad day during his last visit? With how friendly he was being today, she was the one really coming off as an asshole.

Offering a weak smile, she pushed the little carrier full of coffee across the counter to him. "Better eat fast. Your friends probably won't appreciate their coffee getting cold."

Quirking an eyebrow at her, he glanced down at the four cups and back up to her face. "Friends? Sweetheart, these are all for me."

The grin he gave her showed off his stained teeth and she was certain he was being absolutely serious. He laughed as though sharing an inside joke with himself and turned to take a seat at an empty table near the counter.

As he unwrapped the baked good, Harley busied herself with wiping down the counter. She couldn't help glancing up at him every so often and noticing the way he devoured his food like it was his first meal in weeks. There was no decorum, no table manners. He seemed absolutely famished and desperate for food.

Harley was starting to relate to the feeling.

Next week's rent would be due soon and her last paycheck had only left her something like thirty dollars for groceries. It was enough to keep her fed, but certainly not satisfied. The last few days her only good meal had been the sandwich she was allowed from the café, her dinner consisting of the day old bread from the bakery near her apartment. An hour before close they always sold old bread for a dollar per loaf. Harley just felt it was nice to have something in her price range.

The radio caught her attention and she moved to turn it up. Glancing across the room at the one other person in the shop, she took note of his very empty plate (hardly a crumb left on it) and the book he was reading between swigs of coffee. It would be rude not to ask him if he minded, but she wasn't certain she wanted to interrupt him.

Her fingers turned the dial under the counter ever so slightly and he didn't appear to take notice, so she bumped it up a few notches higher. It was now loud enough to be heard clearly through the shop and he glanced up at her and quirked an eyebrow.

"Is it too much?" There was an apology in her tone, but it rang insincere. "I can turn it down…"

Shaking his head, he waved the offer away and fixed her with a satisfied look. "I didn't peg you as a Bowie fan."

For a long moment she started at him, not quite sure how to respond.

"I would be lying if I said I wasn't a little proud," he continued. "Good to know I've still got good taste."

That comment completely robbed her of any response she may have been forming. Her mouth opened and her brow furrowed. When words still evaded her, she shut her mouth quickly and pulled a face. Surely he couldn't have been implying that he liked her. He hardly even spoke to her. Hell, she didn't even know his name…

"Good taste?" Her voice was weak, completely lacking the challenge building in her blood. "Good taste in what?"

Sucking on his scars, he lowered his head and gazed up at her with hooded eyes. "Cafes, sweetheart." A smirk grew on his face and he cocked his head to the side. "What did you think I was talking about?"

Avoiding the question, Harley turned her attention back to scrubbing the countertops.

"Hey, hey hey." The book snapped shut and he was on his feet, moving to the counter in a few quick strides. "Look at me."

Chewing on her bottom lip, Harley looked up, but couldn't bring herself to meet those dark eyes of his. She had fucked up, clearly she had. It had been silly to think for even a second that he had been implying interest in her.

"Look me in the eyes, sweetheart." There was anger underlying his words and she complied instantly.

Gritting her teeth against the intensity of his stare, she clenched her fists on the counter. "I have a name, you know."

A grin played at the sides of his mouth. "That so?"

He was leaning close to her now, his breath ghosting against her face as he spoke. A blush was starting to color her cheeks and she could feel her breathing hitch. Clearly he'd heard it because his eyes swept down to her lips and back up to her eyes. The pounding of her heart felt as though it may burst through her ribcage, that gut-instinct to lean forward and kiss him nearly too strong to fight.

"Harley," she said at length, the sound of her name feeling thick on her tongue. "My name is Harley."

The narrowing of his eyes was brief, as though he were confused. Just as quickly as it had come, it faded and he grinned as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Harrrrrleeey." He drew her name out for all it was worth, closing his eyes as though savoring the taste. "Harley what?"

Her lips pressed together tightly. "Qunizel."

"Harley Quinzel." A giggle escaped him before he seemed able to stop it. "Harley Quinn. You know, that sounds an awful lot like-"

"Harlequin, I know." The smile she offered was weak, a little half-hearted. "It’s a little silly…”

"Oh, but I like it. It suits you."

"You think so?" That smile of hers turned genuine and she reveled in the way he looked her over.

Another sweep of his eyes and he fixed her with a lazy smirk. "Yep."

A thrill shot through Harley, forcing a quick breath through her teeth. He was looking at her like a predator poised for the kill and somehow she found herself unable to get enough of it. It had been far too long since anyone had looked at her like that. It was downright primal, as though he could spring forward and pull her over that counter and fuck her senseless.

To her surprise, she realized that she absolutely wanted him to.

Not the time, not the place.

"So," she said eventually. "You gonna tell me your name?"

Giving her a casual shrug, he looked over his shoulder out the window. His tongue snaked across his lips and he smirked. "Mmmmm, nope. Don't think I will."

Taking a step back, Harley crossed her arms and matched his pose. "But…why?"

His arms fell to his sides and he moved in a flash. Before Harley had fully registered what he was doing, the coffee carrier was in his hands and he was glancing back at the door.

"It'll give you something to look forward to next time." Raising his eyebrows at her, he took a few steps back toward the door.

"You know, I have no idea what to make of you half the time. You're such a joker."

Amusement lit his eyes and he grinned at her like the devil incarnate. "Caught me."

Unsure what to make of that, Harley watched him slip away, nearly bumping into two cops as he went. With a cheerful smile he apologized and the two officers laughed at something he had said. They let him by and made their way into the shop.

It took Harley a moment to get her head on straight, even after she recognized the two officers. Smith and Kendall were two of her favorite regulars. They came in every few days and filled her in on the latest crime gossip around the city. Nothing too interesting, usually, just a few warnings about which areas to avoid on the way home because of muggings or turf war.

"Good morning, guys." She gave them a genuine smile and managed to pull herself away from the conversation she'd just had with the new regular who stubbornly continued to remain nameless.

"Hey, Harley, how's it going?" Smith smiled, but it was weak, certainly not the cheery look he usually gave her in the morning.

"Keeping busy, as always. How about you? Any news from Gotham's finest?"

A look was exchanged between the two officers and Harley knew that whatever it was must have been good. Far more interesting than the usual muggings and petty crime.

"We're not really supposed to talk about it," Kendall said at length.

Definitely interesting. She leaned on her elbows against the counter. "Who am I gonna tell?"

Smith shrugged and glanced around the shop before leaning closer.

"Bank robberies," he said quietly. "Not your run of the mill shit either. These fuckers are thorough."

There was no hiding how intrigued she was now. "How so?"

"Well, they've been robbing mob banks, for starters." Kendall rolled his eyes at the thought and glanced up at the menu board. "Well, banks suspected of being mob banks." He seemed distracted. "By the way, can we get two large coffees?"

Nodding, Harley began to ring up the order. "Room for cream and sugar?"

Somewhere in the back of her mind, a little voice asked her exactly what 'black' implied, despite neither of them asking for theirs black.

"Yes." Smith nodded and glanced over at Kendall, who mimicked the motion.

Smiling brightly, Harley moved to prepare their order. It was strange how her entire routine had been thrown off by one man. One customer amongst hundreds, and he was the only one that managed to occupy her mind even when he wasn't around.

"So, there's a couple of guys out there trying to rob the mob?" Harley prompted, hoping to hear the rest of the story.

"It's just one guy, by the sound of it." There was something like awe in Smith's tone, as though he were still amazed by the whole ordeal. "Or rather, there's one guy in charge of the crime ring. I would call them another gang, but that doesn't seem quite their style."

"More like a circus," Kendall said cynically.

Raising an eyebrow, she turned with their coffees in hand. "What, do they dress up?"

"Sort of?" With an appreciative nod, Kendall took the coffee from her. "They wear clown masks. The whole gang. And the boss, he's…he's something. Leaves a calling card."

"He leaves a business card?" Harley's disbelief seeped into her tone and Kendall shook his head in response.

Again the two cops exchanged a look and Harley could tell they were debating whether or not to let her in on information that strictly should have been secret. Splaying her hands on the counter, she leaned toward them and gave a look of interest. When Smith looked at her, she gave an encouraging smile.

"He leaves a joker card," Smith clarified.

"A joker card?" Harley snorted at the thought, not quite able to believe what she was hearing.

These were two upstanding officers with the Gotham police department, two men that she had known personally for the three years she had been working at the coffee shop. They had regaled her with tales of their impressive takedown of crime throughout the city, especially in the past year since the Batman had prompted the people of Gotham to start demanding criminals be brought to justice. Somehow these two men were completely baffled by a group of literal clowns that were leaving joker cards as evidence at their crime scenes. The whole thing seemed ludicrous, at best. That sort of trick sounded like something an amateur would do to try to get his name out.

For just a moment Harley's mind reeled. The way her new regular had grinned when she'd called him a joker. That look of amusement and that smile…

"Caught me."

Shaking her head, she pushed away the very idea. Couldn't be. He was quiet and a little off-putting, but he wasn't a bank robber. He bought cheap coffee in the Narrows and had only recently started dressing like he wasn't homeless.

"How many banks has he robbed now?" she asked, turning to start her next pot of coffee.

"Four in the last three months." It was clear that Smith was not particularly pleased or impressed by that. "The locations, everything. It's all completely random. They wiped out First Bank of Gotham on Monday afternoon and got away in a Brinks truck. And so far not a single criminal we have taken off the streets has known a damn thing about this guy short of his penchant for wearing make-up."

Harley raised an eyebrow. "Make up?"

"Face paint, like a clown."

Definitely not her new regular. He'd been in on Monday with no trace of face paint or make up on his face. Even if he'd applied it after getting coffee, that stuff didn't come off easily. Hell, it probably would have been sticking around today, right? It couldn't be him. Absolutely could not. There was a rush of relief at that. Wouldn't it have been just her luck to have a growing crush on a notorious bank robber?

Leaning against the counter, Harley took a moment to convince herself that she was definitely not making up excuses to not be suspicious of him.

One of their radios chirped and Smith rolled his eyes. "Duty calls."

Harley told them to be safe and waved goodbye as they left with their steaming cups. It endlessly amused her that Gotham had a way of attracting the strangest criminals she'd ever heard of. First there had been the Scarecrow last year, some madman that had managed to get some sort of hallucinogen in the water. Now there was some thug robbing banks in make-up and leaving joker cards in his wake.

Maybe someday she would move, find a nice quiet city with sane criminals. Or better yet, some little house in the country where she could settle down and not worry constantly about her safety. That, of course, would imply that she would ever be able to afford to move. Until then she would have to settle for carrying mace on her everywhere she went and praying that none of the weirdos of Gotham took an interest in her.

At least she could rest easy knowing she wasn't particularly interesting. She was just a poor grad-school dropout working at a coffee shop. No one gave a shit about her and she aimed to keep it that way.

That night, Harley set to work on her next painting project. It was a simple piece, something that wouldn't be too difficult to sell to the general public. A nice little sunset scene always went over well.

She was mixing an orange and a pink to highlight the sky when her phone rang. Rolling her eyes, she glanced down at the caller ID. Work. Of course.

"Hello?" Even to her own ears it was clear she was distracted, but Annika either didn't care or didn't notice. Just heaved a sigh and let silence fill the line for a moment.

"Angelo quit." Annika sounded exhausted and Harley didn't blame her.

The shop was small and Annika couldn't afford to keep more than a few people on staff. There were five of them – make that four – in total. That included Ann and she owned the place. The loss of a staff member meant that there would be a lot of uncovered shifts. Uncovered night shifts, to be exact. No one was particularly fond of working after dark in the Narrows, Harley included.

However, with her last paycheck leaving her something like two hundred dollars short on this coming week's rent, she felt she was ready to jump on the chance to take extra hours.

"You know I'll take his shifts," she said at length, glancing across her living room at the half-finished painting she was working on. "Do you need me to come back tonight?"

Stupid question, really, it was nearly eight and the shop closed at nine.

"We're good tonight. Oh, I knew I could count on you, Harl." The relief was evident in Annika's tone, her breathing even starting to sound more even. "Do you mind working doubles for the next couple of days?"

Shrugging, Harley gave her painting supplies a longing look. "Nah, I could use the extra cash."

"Still haven't found a roommate?"

Heaving a sigh, Harley rested her forehead against her palm and fought a sob she didn't realize was building in her throat.

"Nope." The breath she drew in quivered in her lungs. "I think I'm gonna get evicted, Ann. You'll have to give me a cot in the back after all."

The two of them tried in vain to laugh at that last comment, but both knew it was a very real possibility. If Harley got kicked out, she legitimately would have nowhere to go.

"You could always..." Annika hesitated. "You could always sleep on my couch for a couple of days."

There was a little pang in Harley's stomach that she tried to push away. "That's…that's really nice of you, Ann. I'm sure it will be fine, though. I'll be fine."

On the other side of the line, her boss let out an audible breath. "If you ever need anything, I'll do my best."

Harley blinked against tears. "You spoil me, boss."

"Damn right."

Maybe she was hearing things, but Harley could have sworn that Ann's voice was shaking too. It was strange to think that her boss was worrying about her so much. Yes, she was the longest lasting employee that had ever been at the shop. She'd started shortly after Ann had opened the place and never left. The two of them were a team, friends even. Honestly, Annika was the closest friend Harley had. Funny how it took such a desperate situation for her to finally realize that.

"So, I'll see you tomorrow morning?" she asked after a while.

"Yeah. Yeah you will."

They both said goodbye at the same time, giggled, and then hung up. It made Harley's heart hurt to realize that, not only was Annika her best friend, but she was caring enough to offer Harley a place to crash if she got evicted. That circumstance, unfortunately, was looking more likely by the day. No matter how hard she tried, regardless of where she cut corners in her budget, there was just not enough money there for her to continue paying double the rent.

She was going to be homeless, and it was not a matter of "if" so much as "when." That scared her shitless.

The next morning, Annika was obscenely quiet. Harley's attempts to chat were met by awkward silence or half-hearted responses. Harley would have sworn Ann was angry with her if it hadn't been for the sympathetic looks she kept throwing when she didn't think Harley was looking. Though the thought was nice, the act was absolutely maddening.

Yes, things in her life were going downhill. No, she didn't really want to talk about it at length. No, she really didn't want sympathy. This turn of events did not make her a charity case, it just made her more determined than ever to get her art career off the ground. Hell, maybe she could put her Master's degree to use again. The center for at-risk teens might rehire her if she tried hard enough. There was always something she could do. Sympathy just slowed her down.

A few times she tried to bring this up, but Ann shut her down every time. Waved a dismissive hand and told her that she was just distracted, the silence wasn't about her. After three years of working together, Harley could sense Annika's bullshit a mile away. This was no exception.

It came up again after morning rush as Annika was retrieving money from the safe and pointedly ignoring Harley's attempts to start conversation about how the rush seemed a little slow on that particular day. When her attempts to start conversation were once again ignored, Harley flapped her hands in annoyance.

"Christ, Ann, I know something is bothering you." Her tone left no room for argument or evasion. "Would you please just tell me what it is?"

Not looking over her shoulder, Ann sighed and hung her head.

"How much?" she asked, standing up from the counter with a handful of bills.

Harley blinked at her. "Huh?"

Rolling her eyes, Ann shook the wad of bills at her. "How short are you, Harley? How much do you need to pay your bills?"

Those words sunk in and Harley felt a wave of something not unlike disgust. Was she trying to pay for Harley's rent out of the register? It was flattering, undoubtedly. Proved just how deeply Annika valued her and their friendship. But Harley was not a charity case.

"No." Pushing the cash back at Annika, Harley shook her head.

No matter how desperate she was, taking handouts from her boss seemed wrong.

"Call it a pay advance."

Shaking her head, Harley backed away. "No."

"Harley, please. I can't have my best girl get evicted. Not when I can do something about it."

Biting her lip, Harley tried to keep from breathing. There would be tears if she drew breath.

"Let me do this for you, Harley."

The handful of bills was thrust at her again and Harley held up her hands as if surrendering. "I can't let you."

"Why the hell not?" Annika sounded angry now and Harley winced.

"Because." Taking a quaking breath, Harley wiped away tears before they could find refuge on her cheeks. "Because if you give me a pay advance this week, it will just postpone the inevitable. If I don't get kicked out this week, it will be next week, or the week after that. I'm never going to catch up with that place. Even if I manage to pay rent, I still can't afford food. I can't afford my student loan bills. Fuck, I can't afford anything."

Hurt shown in Annika's face. Her eyes widened and narrowed, and her brows knitted together in determination.

"At least we can buy you another week." And with that she shoved a collection of bills into Harley's apron pocket and all but stormed out the door.

Harley's back connected with the counter behind her and her knees gave out. Feeling overwhelmed, she slid down the cupboards to the floor. Through bleary eyes she counted the bills in her hand. Five hundred dollars.

Fuck.

Her hands balled into fists and she shoved the money into her pocket, feeling sick. This made her cheap, this made her desperate. Logically she knew that Annika was only looking out for her wellbeing. The money would buy her another week, long enough to start a thorough search for a new place. Something more in her price range.

But her pride…her wounded pride. It hissed in protest at the events that had just transpired. Insisted that she should have been able to make it on her own. Had she been evicted, she would have found her way from there. Would have slept on the streets if she had to. At least it was summer, so she wouldn't freeze to death. At least then she wouldn't have had to accept pity handouts from her fucking boss.

Frustrated, she pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes and let out a growl, slamming her head back against the cupboards. Spots flared in her vision and she groaned at the pain as her fingers clawed at her hair so hard she thought it may rip from her scalp.

It was wrong. She was wrong and pathetic and worthless and weak and…

"What are you doing down there, cupcake?"

That now-familiar voice of her new regular filled her ears and she felt her heart sink.

Harley whipped her head up so fast that it connected painfully with the counter behind her. It made her curse out loud before groaning. Her limbs ached, chest felt constricted, and now her head was pounding. Rubbing the back of her neck, she tried to convince herself to move, which proved far more difficult than it should have been. She didn't even want to look up to meet the eyes of the man speaking to her.

"Sorry." It was hardly more than a whisper. "Just…just give me a minute."

"Are you, uh…okay?" The question sounded awkward, as though asking about someone's well being was miles out of his comfort zone.

Harley didn't answer, just shrugged and heaved a sigh. With some effort, she finally managed to look up at him. When she blinked, she could feel her wet mascara sticking to her skin. She must have looked like hell, all mussed hair, red face, and running eye makeup.

She ran her thumb under her eyes, trying to wipe away the black smear. "I'm…I'm really sorry….I just…I'll get your coffee."

As she got to her feet she could feel his eyes on her, though she didn't look him in the face again. Leaning heavily on the counter, took a moment to catch her breath before taking a cup and beginning to fill it with trembling hands.

"Fuck, sugar, forget the coffee."

Hands gripped her forearms, making her gasp and drop the cup.

"FUCK!" The curse ripped from her lips and she felt tears sting her eyes as those strong hands urged her back from the counter.

She hadn't heard him come around to stand behind her, hadn't even realized he'd moved. Honestly, she wasn't sure he could have gotten to her so fast unless he had jumped the counter.

"Leave it and go sit down." There was no arguing with him, not with that tone.

Not even attempting to protest, she let him lead her past the counter to one of the empty tables, silently grateful that he had been the one to catch her little breakdown. There wasn't even room in her mind to feel embarrassed, the fight with Annika had left her far too raw to feel much of anything.

The heat of his body radiated through the fabric of her shirt and she realized just how close he was to her. His chest was pressed flush against her back for the briefest second before he spun her around and forced her into a chair.

In two quick strides he moved to take the chair opposite her and fixed her with black eyes. Funny, she had nearly forgotten just how much that gaze intimidated her until now. She couldn't bring herself to hold it, opting to bury her face in her hands instead.

"You mind telling me what the fuck is going on?" Was that anger in his tone? Confusion, maybe? Frustration?

Whatever it was, it had her bursting into tears again. Great, painful sobs shook her shoulders and she apologized through gasps as tears streaked her face.

"Harrrrrleeeeyyy." He sing-songed her name and it would have made her uneasy had she been paying proper attention to him. "Look at me, Harley."

Still those sobs continued. Waving her hands, she tried to motion at him to give her just a moment to compose herself. It was a pathetic effort. She needed more than a minute, she needed a fucking century. Needed a miracle. Needed…

His fist slammed on the table, making her jump back as he growled at her. "LOOK AT ME."

The noise was inhuman, not like him at all. Not the voice she was used to, anyway. It frightened away the tears and had her looking up at him in abject terror. His face was contorted in a sneer that barred his yellowed teeth to her and his eyes….she had never seen eyes so black. So fathomless. He was a black hole pulling her in with immeasurable gravity, ready to snuff her out of existence.

"I….I'm sorry. I…" Words escaped her and she sniffed, shaking her head to try to rattle her thoughts into proper order.

A warm hand moved from the table to brush the hair away from her face. Little crescent moons were indented in his palm from digging his fingernails in. It looked painful, but he didn't seem to give them a second thought.

"You gonna talk to me now?" There was an unmistakable warning underneath the friendly tone and she didn't dare tell him anything but yes.

Nodding, she wiped her eyes with her palm. "It's been a really…really rough morning."

Rolling his eyes, he licked his lips and smacked them together impatiently. "Aaaannnnd?"

Sniffling, Harley tried to find a proper way to explain the last few months. Technically he had been around for the worst of it, but she had never actually told him about any of it.

"It's kind of a long story." That excuse wasn't going to cut it and she realized as much.

He raised his eyebrows at her and cocked his head, nodding for her to go on.

"Are you sure you want to hear it?"

"You're testing my patience, Harley."

She knew damn well that was the last thing she wanted to do. Testing him in any way, shape, or form right now seemed to absolutely not be in her best interest. Heaving a sigh, she did her best to conjure words and she blew the breath out through her teeth in a rush.

"I've been working here for three years and until now it has paid my bills." A twist in her gut had her pausing, but she willed herself to go on. "This job got me through my Master's degree and when I moved on to my PhD I managed to cut down on hours so that I could work at a shelter with at-risk teens. In May last year the guy I was seeing talked me into dropping out of grad school. Said that working on my dissertation made me moody and it made it difficult for him to focus on his studies. I lost the internship at the shelter and started working here full time. Last November I broke it off with him. There was a big fight, it was a mess. So, I moved in with this girl I met off an ad in the paper. Didn't seem like a terrible idea, we were both quiet and stayed out of each other's hair, for the most part. But the rent was higher, so I had to work extra hours and it still wasn't enough." Running a hand through her half-destroyed ponytail, she breathed deep against the constriction in her chest. It was fine. She could do this. "I started defaulting on my loans and knew I wouldn't be able to go back to school, even though I had promised myself that I would. Started picking up hours left and right here to try to catch up. That was going okay until about two weeks ago when the roommate just…she just left. No warning or anything. Just…gone."

She glanced up at his face to find no hint of sympathy. There was no doubt he was listening intently given the way his eyes burned at her, but his expression was unreadable.

"I…I've been picking up extra hours here," she went on. "Haven't had a day off since two Sundays ago. I've been trying to sell my art, but no one is buying. We pay rent weekly and right now I'm two hundred dollars short because I decided I needed to eat and take the subway and there's a damn good chance my landlord is going to kick me out on the streets within the month. I just need time to find a new place, you know? And then last night Annika called and asked if I wanted to work a double today because one of the guys quit. I really don't mind. More money, right? So I accidentally let it slip on the phone that I was probably losing my place when we talked and she acted funny all morning, until like ten minutes ago when she left for the bank and handed me a handful of money from the till." Her hand went to her pocket and she felt the wad of cash still tucked there. "I can't let her do that. I feel so fucking guilty. This place is her life and I can't…just…take money like that. I'm not a charity case. I'd rather, I don't know, whore myself out, or rob a bank, or something."

The laugh he let out sounded unhinged and had her looking up from the thumbs she was twiddling on the table.

"You haven't got bank robbin' in ya, sugar," he said matter-of-factly. "And you're far too proud to be a hooker."

"There is nothing wrong with sex work."

"Never said there was. Just said you're too proud to do it."

Not quite looking him in the eyes, she shrugged. "I'm not so sure about that anymore. I could sacrifice my pride for a few hundred bucks a night."

He snorted. "You're worth at least a grand, sweetheart."

Despite herself, she felt the hot sensation of a blush coloring her cheeks. "You think so?"

Looking her over, he made a noise that was almost lecherous. Those black eyes were burning again, and this time Harley could have sworn it was lust that lit the fire. His lip twitched as though to say something, but he shook his head. "It doesn't matter what I think."

Cold disappointment shot down Harley's spine. Of course he stubbornly refused to give her the satisfaction of getting a straight answer about whether or not he was attracted to her. Hell, she didn't even know if he liked her. Well, that may have been a lie. A guy didn't pull you up at your weakest and attempt to comfort you if they didn't have some semblance of emotional attachment to you. Not his type, at least. The fact he was even trying to comfort her seemed like a miracle. She considered pointing out any number of these things, but she didn't push the matter. It didn't seem worth riling him over.

"You know, you never told me your name," she said, pulling the ponytail holder from her hair and letting loose a mess of dark blonde tresses.

The muscles in her shoulders were starting to relax, the pounding in her head began to subsided with her now-even breaths. Running her fingers through her hair, she tried to ease away any tangles before returning it to the ponytail.

Across the table, she noticed that his leg had begun to bounce distractedly. His eyes were on the ceiling, clearly avoiding contact with her.

"Is this another 'no', then?" She stopped playing with her hair and moved her fingers to massage the back of her neck.

Black eyes snapped down and pinned her in place, his tongue snaking out across his lips. "You know, I never got my coffee today."

Fixing him with an annoyed scowl, she began to move to her feet. One of those warm hands clapped down on her shoulder and he pushed her back into place.

"Just thinking out loud, sweetheart. I can get it myself."

Deep down she knew she should object, should get up and tell him that the area behind the counter was for employees only. That he wasn't allowed to do her job for her, seeing as their talk had left her feeling mostly capable. Yet, as she opened her mouth to do so, she couldn't quite manage the words.

Every attempt to get to her feet had her exhausted muscles screaming in protest, and she couldn't quite bring herself to ignore them. Defeated, she glanced up at him as he passed her, making his way behind the counter and beginning to pour himself a cup of coffee.

"Sure did manage to make a mess back here, didn't you?" he teased, grabbing a handful of paper towel and beginning to mop up the coffee spill that surrounded the carafe and ran down the front of the cupboard door.

"I can clean that. It is my job."

Even after making the offer she made no effort to move. It was far more entertaining to watch him move behind the counter, his lips moving silently and twitching up at the scarred edges. His head bobbed to the tempo of the song on the radio and she realized suddenly that he was mouthing to words.

"You, uh, want a cup?" he asked over the sound of coffee pouring into the thick paper cup.

"You still avoiding my question?"

"I am not. If I didn't want to answer, I just wouldn't." He grimaced at the cup he'd poured before downing the still-steaming liquid and beginning to pour another. "It's, uh, Jack. Friends call me J."

"Jack?" The name felt right on her tongue, suited him well. "It's a good name. I like it."

Shaking his head, he rolled his eyes at her. "We're friends, aren't we, sugar?"

The annoyance threw her for just a moment before she realized that he'd said that his friends called him J, and yet she had called him Jack. A little thrill made her insides coil and dance. Friends. He said they were friends. Grinning, she nodded enthusiastically. "Of course we are, J."

As he turned back to her, two coffees in hand, he was chuckling at a joke that she wasn't in on. He did that often, she had noticed. Everything was funny to him, even things that probably should not have been. It made the permanent smile seem even more at home on his face.

Not that she even noticed those scars anymore. For the first day or two that he had been in she had been distracted by them, fascinated by the way they would twist and indent as he mindlessly played with them as she took his order. Since then, they had begun to blend in with the rest of his face, and they certainly didn't distract from his handsome features by any means.

A black coffee was set in front of her and she grinned up at him, taking a careful sip and grimacing slightly at the bitterness.

"I see you didn't leave room for cream and sugar," she teased.

He sat across from her again and took a long pull from his own cup. Smacking his lips, he savored the taste before moving his eyes to her. "No sense in sugar coating things. It's all bitter in the end."

"Well, aren't you just a fucking ray of sunshine? You always this cynical, or did I just catch you on a particularly good day?" Her mouth ran away before she could control herself and found herself immediately regretting it.

Darkness found its way into his eyes and she worried for a moment that he may get up and leave. But then he threw his head back and laughed that mad cackle of his, which put her somehow more on edge.

"You are an absolute riot, you know that?" Taking a deep breath, his face grew serious. As his eyes searched her face he stayed silent, taking her expression in carefully before continuing. "But I'm not cynical, sweetheart, I'm a realist. This world is a bitter, awful place. You should know that better than anyone."

Shrugging, Harley glanced down at the black liquid in front of her. "I just like my sugar where I can get it. There's enough bullshit in my life. I need something that doesn't leave a bad taste in my mouth."

His eyes lit up as she spoke and she could have sworn he didn't even blink. For the first time in their short friendship, she felt she was legitimately interesting him. It encouraged her to go on, and once she set her mind to it, she didn't seem able to stop.

"With all the bad stuff that's been going on, I've gotta try to find some light in it, you know?" As she tried to find the right words, she took a drink of coffee. This time the bitterness was not so overwhelming. "And if that light is the sugar in my coffee, then so be it. Lately the shit has been stacking up faster than I can shovel it, but I'm fighting tooth and nail to keep my head on straight. Like… I've been painting again because I need to sell some for extra cash. That's my first real passion and I hadn't done it for months, until a few weeks ago. Not that I've sold any yet, but it reminded me of how important it is to do things I enjoy. There's darkness everywhere and this city completely drains the soul of the less fortunate. We just have to find a way to fight back. Mine is painting and sugar in my coffee."

Silently, he stared at her and drummed his fingers against the table. "Why not actually fight for it, though? Physically take your happiness back from the city that insists on stealing it every day. This city and the people in it walk on you. The wealthy see you living in squalor and do nothing to help. Doesn't it make you angry? Make you wanna teach 'em a lesson?"

Shaking her head, Harley folded her hands on the table and leaned toward him. "Of course it makes me angry. It's just…I know they'll never actually care. They'll never be made to care. Because one person fighting against a whole city won't prove a thing. We can listen to all the Against Me songs we want and sing about how 'baby, I'm an anarchist,' but no one ever does anything. No one has the balls to do anything. It is way easier to have my little corner of the world where I can paint and mind my own business. I ignore the gunshots outside and mind my own business and it works alright for me, just so long as I can stay hidden there."

He listened intently to her, drinking in every word she said. Eventually his head dipped and he stared up at her amusedly. "If your landlord has his way, you won't have a place to hide come next week. You'll have to come out of your little corner and stand up with the rest of us."

Raising an eyebrow at him, she leaned a little further onto her elbows. "The rest of us? What? Are you planning a revolution?"

He moved in his seat, twitching side to side as he continued to dissect her with his gaze. "You don't plan a revolution, sweetheart. You plan strategic moves and allow the revolution to rise up around you."

"You sound like you're a fucking war general."

Those eyes lit up in amusement and he smirked up at her. "Something like that."

Unsure of quite what he meant, she cocked her head to the side and tried to decide how to go about getting him to explain himself. He was speaking in riddles, in dark metaphors of fire and blood. It was an idea she could get behind, of that she was almost certain. When he talked about making the city realize its filth by drawing it out as openly as possible, Harley felt she understood the logic there. She also knew that, though revolution and reclaiming the city for the deserving sounded nice in theory, it would be hell in practice.

The bell chimed and all of the questions bubbling inside of Harley died as an older gentleman walked up to the counter. She shot J an apologetic look and got up to do her job. He ordered a latte that she prepared in a rush and hoped to send him on his way with just as quickly. To her disappointment, he went and took a seat over near the window. So much for continuing that little conversation with J, whom she expected to get up and leave any time now, just as he did every time someone else came into the shop.

This time, however, he surprised her. He got up from his chair and came up to stand across the counter from her. Her coffee was offered to her as he looked her over with an unreadable expression.

"Guess I should get back to work," she muttered, picking up a rag from the sink and moving to wipe down the counters.

He made no attempt to show he had heard her, just silently watched her work. Eventually he let out a long breath and looked her over. "Do you enjoy this, Harley?"

Shrugging, she scrubbed circles on the front counter. "I guess so. It's not the worst job."

"What would you do if you could do anything?"

"Well, I was getting my PhD to specialize in art therapy. So, I would probably do that. Or I would just paint."

"No coffee shop?" He seemed amused at this.

"The coffee shop is important. I think everyone should have to work in customer service of some kind. It's the key to world peace, you know? Learn to respect other people and fake it til you make it. I think everyone would be a lot nicer to each other. But I wouldn't want to stay here, no."

He ran a hand over his face and regarded her strangely before deadpanning, "If you could have anything in the world, what would it be?"

Harley responded instantly. "Enough money to pay my bills and be comfortable. Nice apartment, well stocked cupboards."

"No big mansion or fancy cars?" He sounded like he was teasing, but Harley couldn't be sure. "The whole world is offered and you just want a nice apartment?"

Shrugging, Harley worked at a particularly stubborn spot where coffee had splattered earlier. "I'm a woman of simple tastes."

"Oh, come on!" He was grinning ear to ear now, his voice loud enough to make the man sitting by the window look up from the newspaper he was reading. "I tell you that you could have anything in the world and you tell me that you would be fine with things as they are as long as you didn't have to worry where your next meal was coming from?"

"Well…yeah. When you spend every night crying because you couldn't afford food and you probably won't be able to pay rent, it really sorts your priorities out." Looking up at him, she shrugged and tried to read his expression. He was smiling and his eyes were burning, but it was clearly not because he thought she was funny.

She watched the indent of his cheek as he sucked at the scar tissue inside his cheek. That smile had disappeared and his eyes were searching her face for something.

"I underestimated you," he said eventually. "I'm really sorry I did that."

Cocking her head, she tried and failed a few times to ask him what the hell he meant. Should she be offended that he had underestimated her? It sounded almost like an insult, but she couldn't decide which of them it was actually aimed at.

His eyes fell to the counter and he began digging in his pocket. "Not gonna do that again though. Not again." Those curls of his shook violently and she was almost certain he was talking to himself rather than to her.

When he pulled his wallet out, something fell with it and began to flutter toward the ground. With quickness she didn't realize he had in him, he snatched the object out of the air and put it back in his pocket. Harley didn't get a good look, but she could have sworn it was a playing card. She almost asked, but wasn't sure he would give her a straight answer. For a split second she was reminded of the cops from yesterday telling her about the bank robber that left joker cards in his wake.

That thought was pushed away just as quickly when he handed her a ten and she realized he was paying for his coffee. "Keep the change."

Guilt made her bones feel stiff and she tried to object, but he shook his head. "I know you ain't a charity case, sugar. I just like you. Make sure you buy yourself something to eat." His eyes traveled from the once well-fitting pants that now sagged on her hips, to the skin of her chest that stretched too tightly against her collarbones. "Starvation's starting to catch up with ya."

He took both of their coffees from the table as he went and disappeared out the door before she even managed to thank him.

The older man by the window looked up curiously as he went and together they watched out the window as he disappeared into the crowd.

"That your boyfriend?" the old man asked, turning his attention to Harley.

Snorting a laugh, she shook her head. "Nah, just a friend."

"Kind of a strange fellow, isn't he?"

Pressing her lips together to hold back a laugh, Harley nodded. "Yeah. Good heart, though."

The old man shrugged and turned his attention back to his newspaper. The whole thing left Harley feeling confused, as she always did after her interactions with him – with Jack. He was unpredictable. Friendly and caring one moment, dismissive and standoffish the next. Today had been a good day, despite the odd questions he had asked her. It was like he was trying to get to know her innermost self, but had no idea how to actually go about it. She never hid anything from him, though. Didn't think she was capable. She liked him too much for that, wanted his approval too badly.

When the bell chimed above the door, she looked up to see Annika come back. It sent a thrill of anxiety through Harley and she took a deep breath before offering a hello. Annika smiled warily at her, but didn't speak as she came behind the counter.

"Hey." Harley's insides twisted as she spoke, but she fought off the ill feelings. "I'm really sorry about earlier. I…I appreciate everything you're trying to do for me."

There was silence as Annika turned to face her, smiling a little sadly as she nodded. "I should be apologizing. Springing that shit on you wasn't cool. I'm just so worried about you, Harl. You're my friend and I want to make sure you don't end up on the street."

"And I'm so worried about being a charity case that I can't accept, legitimate kindness sometimes." Harley laughed a little sadly and shook her head. "I really appreciate what you're doing to help me."

Annika grinned, clapping a hand on Harley's shoulder. "If I thought you were a burden, I wouldn't help you. Never think that I'm doing this because I feel bad for you or because I feel like I have to. I want to. Trust me."

Tears pricked at Harley's eyes and she smiled a little sadly. "I love you, Ann."

"Yeah, yeah." Annika waved a hand, but Harley could see the way her eyes were starting to mist over. "You better." They pulled each other close and Annika buried her face in Harley's hair. "I love you too."

Work went faster after that, the two of them finally falling back into their familiar banter. It was a sort of comfort knowing that she would be able to pay rent and buy food. Now that she was thinking with a level head, Annika's help was both welcome and needed. She still wasn't proud of the fact she needed help, but knowing that people would help willingly made her feel slightly better.

By the time she go home, she felt significantly better. It was a long, slightly terrifying walk seeing as she was getting home after dark, but with her pepper spray clenched tightly in her had, she knew no one would try anything. And if they did, she would fuck them up.

She made her way up the stairs to the fourth floor. As she stepped off the landing into the hall, she noticed something sitting near her door. Raising an eyebrow, she made her way toward the door, realizing with each step that it was an envelope, and it was wedged under her door.

Uncertainly she bent down and picked it up, noticing it was blank. When she opened the flap of the envelope, she noticed it was full of cash. Her blood ran cold and she quickly unlocked the door and slipped inside, immediately locking the door behind her. Biting her lip, she pulled out the stack of bills. There was so much money, more money than she had ever held in her hand at once.

Three times over she counted the cash, realizing in awe that there were ten-thousand dollar there. There must have been a mistake, someone must have believed that someone else lived in her apartment. Maybe they were aiming for the drug dealer down the hall?

Momentarily she debated putting it back, throwing it into the hall and hoping the right person would come across it. But, then again, she needed the money desperately and throwing it back into the hall would just leave it for someone else to stumble across. So what if someone had left the money at the wrong door? It was hers now and she needed it.

Again she picked up the envelope, searching it for something she had missed. A note maybe or an address it should arrive at. There was something in the bottom that she could see. Something that didn't seem to want to come out. Reaching into the envelope, she gripped the thick paper in between her fingers and pulled it out, feeling the glossy exterior.

When she looked down a gasp escaped her and a feeling of dread bloomed deep in her stomach. It was a card, a card that damned her new friend. Suddenly the fears she had been holding in for days was confirmed and she could feel sickness kicking deep in her gut. Jack was not who he pretended to be, and suddenly the danger she had sensed from him felt all too obvious. The signs had all been there and she had pointedly ignored them because she didn't want them to be true.

But this was undeniable, the damning evidence laid right out clear as day.

Between her trembling fingers there was a Joker card and she knew without a doubt it had come from him.


	2. Burnin' For You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harley confronts Jack about his secret identity and accidentally invites him back to her place.

"Burn out the day, burn out the night.  
I'm not the one to tell you what's wrong and what's right  
I've seen suns that were freezing and lives that were through  
But I'm burning, I'm burning, I'm burning for you."

~Blue Oyster Cult "I'm Burnin' For You"

\----

Harley didn't sleep that night.

Every thought she had, every electric flash of synapses connecting had her mind buzzing with the memory of him. The things she was realizing about him. It had her blood running cold, sweat sticking her pajamas to her skin. The most notorious bank robber in Gotham was not only her favorite customer, but he somehow knew where she lived. Not only that, but he had left her an envelope full of likely-stolen money complete with his calling card.

The thin piece of cardstock lay on her bedside table, its black eyes watching her toss and turn. It recognized her guilt and laughed at her discomfort. His gift to her, wrapped tight in a business envelope. Over and over she had tried to convince herself that the envelope had simply made its way to the wrong door, that someone else was meant to receive that money.

Deep down she knew it was bullshit.

He knew how desperately broke she was. Knew that Annika giving her money had made her intensely frustrated because she didn't have the money to give. Did he honestly think that money would be acceptable from him? That she would have no objection because this was stolen money?

Fuck, he'd given her stolen money.

She had to confront him about it. There was no avoiding it, much as she may want to. It was unacceptable for her to allow him to give her that money and she wasn't certain she could keep his secret in good conscience.

Not that she knew much about him. Apart from his name, all she knew about him was the way he liked his coffee. If the money was somehow found in her possession, she wouldn't be able to give the cops much to go on. But if they knew she had the money, they could find her guilty by association. And that in and of itself made her uncomfortable.

The will to not be an accessory to crime outweighed her need for money.

With her luck she'd be caught with it anyway. Best to be rid of the stuff before any real trouble could come of it. Deep down she felt it best to return the money to him and tell him that she needed to be done playing his game. It was clear she was already in over her head. If she could be rid of him and his money, then perhaps she could get back to some semblance of normal life.

Back to being near-starved and dirt poor. Probably homeless at some point in the near future.

Yes, normal life seemed far more promising than ten thousand dollars and Jack's possible affection.

When she left for work the next day, she left the money at home. Told herself that she would leave it there and confront him first. After all, there was still some slim chance that Jack was not actually the Joker. That he was simply a strange man with a strange sense of humor.

_"You're such a joker."_

_"Caught me."_

It seemed less and less like coincidence every time she thought about it.

Through the morning rush she tried and failed to get her head back on straight. He was all she could think about. The only thing her mind would properly grasp. Him and the money he had left her. Even after dwelling on it all night and through most of the morning, she found herself incapable of deciding exactly how to approach the subject.

There was no proper way to accuse him of being a bank robber, let alone approach the fact he had left ten thousand dollars by the door of her apartment. The apartment he should not have even known the location of. So, she could add stalking to the things she was about to accuse him of.

And the worst part was that she wasn't even angry at him for it.

Hanging her head at the realization, she rested her palms on the counter and sighed.

Honestly, she wasn't even certain she wanted to bring it up. The temptation to keep the money and not say a word about it was more tempting than she would have liked to admit. If she simply hid the money somewhere in the house as some sort of emergency fund, she would be able pay all of her bills on time and maybe, just maybe, take a day off once in a while. After spending the last six months trying to make her paychecks stretch as far as possible, she was certain she could convince herself that stolen money didn't even exist until she desperately needed to use it.

No one would suspect a thing.

The bell chimed and she looked up expectantly. It was time, he should be here. Annika had left for the bank nearly fifteen minutes ago, which meant...

The older gentleman from the day before smiled brightly at her as he came in the door, waving the newspaper in his hand in way of greeting. Harley's smile fell, but she picked it up quickly and waved back at him.

"Good morning, sir!" It sounded far cheerier than she felt. The presence of the old man meant there was a good chance she wouldn't be able to even confront Jack about the money until he left. If he left.

"Good morning to you as well." His smile was kind and Harley did her best to not seem annoyed with him.

Her sour mood was not his fault, and she had no reason to take it out on him. Even so, the muscles in her face protested at the way she tried to make that smile of hers genuine.

"What can I get for you?" There was impatience in her tone that refused to be buried beneath plastic pleasantry.

Much to her dismay it did not go unnoticed.

"Long night?" The old man didn't seem annoyed with her, just concerned.

"Uh, sort of, yeah." She shrugged, trying to brush off the comment. "Little tired today. Sorry."

"No need to apologize, dear." With a kind laugh, he dropped his newspaper on the counter and looked up at her expectantly. "You just look tired."

Biting her lip, she nodded and tried to look nonchalant. Of course she looked tired, she hadn't slept all fucking night. Not that she could admit that to the old man. With how chatty he was feeling he would undoubtedly pry into what kept her up. Even if she had been up for talking about it, there was a void in her mind where the words to describe her anxiety should have been.

The bell chimed again and once again she looked up expecting to see Jack. No such luck. A woman in a worn dress came in, head ducked against the rain. Glancing back at her, the old man seemed disappointed that their conversation had been interrupted.

"I'll have a large vanilla latte," he decided as he turned back to face Harley.

Silently thankful that the conversation had been cut short, Harley rang up his order and prepared his drink. With a quick thanks, she went back to work and hoped the crowd kept her busy enough to avoid thinking too hard about Jack or his gift.

A steady stream of people didn't disappoint. They kept her busy well after Annika returned from the bank, and - come the start of Harley's second shift of the day - there was still no sign of her mysterious friend.

She found it bothersome how disappointing his absence felt. There was no sign of him all day and with each passing hour she began to get frustrated, worried even. Here she had spent the entire day trying to decide what to say to him, had convinced herself that the proper words would come to her upon seeing him. And then he didn't show. Not even briefly.

It left her feeling cold and bitter.

Though she had not been feeling particularly keen on having a serious discussion with him about the money he may or may not have left her, it would have been nice to actually have that conversation. Being left to dwell on it further put her even more on edge. It somehow seemed to solidify his guilt. Left her with all kinds of doubts, worries that she would never see him again.

What if he just left her the money and never came back?

Somehow that felt worse than having to confront him about it.

The end of the day saw her closing the shop while filled to the brim with bitter disappointment. Her skin itched with it just below the surface where she couldn't scratch. She was angry with him for not showing up, angrier at herself for hoping he would.

A vicious circle of anger and regret carried her on heavy feet past the subway station and to a little bar near the edge of the narrows.

Though she had never really been one to drown her sorrows, Harley felt desperate to get her mind to stop running. For her thoughts to go anywhere but to the man that had once again managed to fuck with her head thoroughly enough to leave her frustrated and angry at the mere absence of his presence.

With the little money she carried on her person, she ordered herself something strong enough to make her eyes water and her throat burn. It was poor quality, which only added to the awful taste it left her in mouth. With the way she was feeling, it was increasingly unlikely that anything would take the bitterness from her tongue, and she knew damn well the vodka wasn't solely responsible for it.

Somewhere around her fourth shot, the booth she was sitting in began to feel too warm and she decided she should stop while her vision was still mostly clear. After all, it was dark and she still hoped to make it home in one piece. The narrows weren't friendly after dark. Especially not to women who had been drinking.

Gathering her things, Harley tried with clumsy hands to pull money out of her wallet. When the change pocket opened seemingly of its own accord, she cursed and tried to move too quickly to gather the loose coins that tinkled cheerfully against the metal table leg to announce their descent. The room took a sickening dive, making her groan in misery and frustration.

She'd made a mistake. She shouldn't have come here. Shouldn't have…

"Easy there, sugar. It's dangerous for a gal like you be out in such a…nasty part of town this late at night."

Her stomach twisted and her skin felt suddenly frigid. That voice – his voice – was unmistakable.

The cracked vinyl seat across from her squeaked in protest as his weight settled in it. She watched his purple clad legs slide into view and felt her breath catch in her chest. Very slowly and deliberately she moved to sit upright, watching his impatiently bouncing leg all the while. When the table broke her line of vision, she forced her eyes up to his face. It was unclear if he was grinning at her or baring his teeth, but it made her shiver all the same.

Twice she tried and failed to say something in response, but the words were lost each time. His eyes had her backing into her seat, making feeble attempts to put more than just the table between them. That grin of his spread and she noticed that he would have had dimples if not for the scars on his cheeks.

"I was going to ask you if you'd received my present, but that look on your face says yes." He laughed at that, a giggle that had him bouncing in his seat. It sounded downright mad and Harley wished with all of her might she could disappear into the booth she was pressed against.

Wordlessly he stared at her, eyes darting across her face every so often as he worried his scars with his tongue. There was sweat starting to make Harley's palms slick and eventually her eyes fell to the table, memorizing its chipped black topography.

She needed to say something, needed to break the silence that was suffocating her in its grasp. Words continued to evade her. His confession had sent her reeling and there was no recovering from it. He had just admitted to giving her the money, to having left her that damning little calling card.

When she glanced up to find him still staring at her, she cleared her throat and looked away again.

"C'mon, aren't you going to thank me?" There was no mistaking that condescension in his tone.

Glaring up at him, she shook her head. "Why?"

"Well, generally that's the polite thing to do when someone gives you the money to keep living."

The entire time he spoke, Harley continued to shake her head. "That's not what I mean and you fucking know it." She bit her lip, holding back the anger gathering in the muscles between her shoulder blades. "Why did you leave me that money? I don't need –"

"Oh, don't bullshit me, Harley, you do need it and that's why I left it." The irritation was evident in his voice as well as the way his gaze shifted to the ceiling as he adjusted the tie around his neck. "And you don't have to feel guilty taking it from me because - technically - it wasn't, uh, miiiine to begin with."

That made him smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

Harley's hands felt cold. Blowing out a breath, she stuffed them into the pockets of her sweater and tried to pointedly ignore the sudden blooming sickness in the pit of her stomach.

It was him. It had been him all along.

Across the table he made a noise, something like disapproval that came shooting between his teeth in a hiss. Furrowing her brow, she looked away from him and curled her fisted hands against her rolling stomach. Too much, it was all too much. She had liked him, she had trusted him, and in return…

"What is that face, hmmm?" His head cocked to the side in a way that didn't seem human. It was too fast, too mechanical. The joint popped. It sounded painful, but he didn't seem to notice if it did. "You keep making that face like I've done something wrong."

"You gave me stolen money!" Folding her arms, she looked him over with wild eyes. "I…I liked you, Jack. I fucking trusted you."

The side of his mouth twitched. "Well, that was your first mistake, sugar."

It looked like he was about to go on, but she cut him off with a severe look. "No, you fucking shut your mouth and listen, you son of a bitch."

He clicked his tongue like a disapproving parent, shaking his head in disappointment. "You sure have got a mouth on you…"

Harley's fists slammed down on the table and she shot up like a jack in the box, leaning across the table with her face inches from his. "What part of shut the fuck up did you not understand?"

With speed Harley hadn't anticipated, she found his hand suddenly gripping her jaw. Fingers forced her cheeks painfully against her teeth as he pulled her face closer to his. Hot breath washed across her skin and she could smell the familiar stench of whiskey there.

"Do not threaten me, Harley." The words were ground out against his teeth, their venom making her draw a quick breath that refused to leave her lungs. "I just openly admitted to giving you ten thousand dollars that came from the armed robbery of a mob bank. You know far too much already. I have spilled my guts to you in an attempt to show you that we're friends." His tongue snaked across his lips as his grip on her jaw tightened. "If you think for a second you can cross me, I will not hesitate to spill yours."

Just as quickly as he had grabbed her, he let her go. She collapsed heavily into her seat.

There were angry tears burning her eyes. In a few vicious blinks they were gone and she fixed him with a glare to match the one he was giving her.

"You really think threatening me is going to make me like you more?" Swallowing hard, she shook her head and looked away from him. "I didn't ask for this. For any of this. Not for the money, or your secrets… I just make your goddamn coffee…"

Though she pressed her face into her upturned palms, she refused to cry. Wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her weak again.

It wasn't until she heard him laughing that she bothered to look up at him.

She wanted to ask him if something was funny, but couldn't bring herself to do it. There was madness in that laugh, something unhinged and dangerous. It was a cackle that had her shifting uncomfortably in her seat and weighing the pros and cons of getting up and running out the door before he could catch her. He was fast, though, and she knew it. There was no way she would be quick enough to slip past him with her heavy, drunken feet. Instead, she settled for glowering at the table and pointedly avoiding allowing their eyes to meet.

"I'm sorry," he said eventually, his voice still caught in giggles. "But do you really, really think I would have wasted this much time on you if I thought of you as just a coffee girl?"

His hands waved dismissively and he leaned on his elbows as he continued, his voice unnaturally high as he practically sung his words at her. "You crawled into my head the very first day I came in and you haven't left since."

Suddenly his face fell and his gaze dropped as he looked at her seriously. Dark eyes searched her face, sweeping down to the hands she had folded on the table and back up to catch her eyes.

"What is it about you? I don't give two shits about anyone." The lines in his face became more apparent as he squinted at her in frustration. It was hard to tell if he was addressing her anymore or simply thinking out loud.

Those words should have been flattering, should have had her biting her lip and blushing every time their eyes met.

But they didn't. Not even a little.

He had her stomach twisting in sick knots, wishing she could escape. Each time he spoke it became more and more apparent that feeling any sort of affection toward anyone was foreign to him. She was not about to be his guinea pig in finding out whether or not he could cope with his feelings. Now, more than ever before it was clear that Jack was dangerous and likely not in his right mind. As far as she was concerned, whether she left now or went along for the ride he wanted to take her on, she would end up dead in a ditch somewhere in the end.

Mustering courage she didn't realize she possessed, Harley gathered her belongings and began to slip toward the edge of the booth. "I don't know, but you're more than welcome to stop giving a shit about me."

The room only swam for a moment as she slid out of her seat and went storming passed him toward the door. Even as the sound of her name followed her through the door and into the busy summer night, she didn't hesitate. Simply gathered her bearings and headed in the direction of her apartment. He didn't follow her and she didn't want him to. In fact, she hoped she never saw him again.

At least, she thought that was what she hoped. It was hard to tell with the way her head was swimming. The mangled lines her thoughts drew through the synapses of her brain had her feeling overwhelmed. Everything was overwhelming lately, even without alcohol lacing her blood. Drinks that were supposed to clear her mind simply made coping with her problems more difficult.

Again the familiar sting of tears overtook her and she dug her teeth into her lip to bite them back. There was a nagging voice in the back of her mind telling her to go back to the bar. To apologize to Jack and explain that his sudden decision to admit he had feelings for her was ill timed and she had reacted badly. All she needed was a day or two to clear her head, to get her life back together and renew her confidence. Relying on others to help her was something she was not used to doing, and though she appreciated his gesture it was a lot. The illegal nature of his acquisition of the money was even worse and it made the gift even more difficult to accept because she worried about legal ramifications. Maybe he could just take back half of the money, then she could still have enough to get on her feet while not feeling like some accessory to robbery…or something like that.

She had nearly convinced herself to turn around when she heard the sound of rushing footsteps behind her.

Perhaps he had followed her after all.

An almost optimistic feeling washed over her and she was about to say something witty about him being a gentleman and walking her home when someone yanked on her purse.

Surprise washed over her and she yanked back on instinct. It was lucky that she had been clasping it so tightly at her side or it probably would have been gone. A young boy came to sudden halt in front of her, his hand still attached to the strap of her purse. Glaring, she gave the bag another good pull and the kid let go, sending her stumbling backward and tripping over her own feet.

She landed on the sidewalk with a squeal of surprise and pain, letting out an angry curse as her palms were scraped raw by the gritty pavement. A hiss was sucked in through her teeth and she glanced down at her hands, the pink palms now covered in dirt and torn skin.

"Fuck."

The stinging in her palms was made worse as she rubbed them against her jeans to remove the dirt that had stuck to the wound. She needed to get home, needed a nice bath to soak her stinging hands and bruised pride. Maybe that would help her clear her mind, figure out what to do about Jack and his money…

"Yo, bitch, get the fuck up," demanded a male voice above her.

It hadn't even occurred to her that her mugger may have stuck around and she looked up in shock, only to find herself staring into a black hole. Her mind reeled and struggled to recognize the object as a handgun.

Just fucking great.

"Gimme your money."

Really? That was the line he was going with?

The boy holding the gun couldn't have been more than eighteen. His dark hair was a mess and his blue eyes were wild with desperation. Drug money. The little fucker was trying to mug her to get his fix.

Gritting her teeth, Harley shook her head as she climbed to her feet.

"I don't have any money." Her tone made her exasperation evident.

Even when the kid used his thumb to turn off the safety on the gun all she could manage to do was roll her eyes.

"Look," she said at length, doing her best to hide the way her voice was starting to shake with the gravity of the situation. "You can have my wallet. Hell, you can have my whole fucking purse. Just let me have my keys so that I can get into my apartment. Okay?"

The kid looked puzzled. Had he not been pointing a gun at her, Harley would have laughed at his slack-jawed expression. "Jesus fuck, lady I'm fucking robbing you. This isn't a goddamn – CHRIST!"

Suddenly the gun disappeared from Harley's line of sight, replaced by a blur of purple. And then the kid was against the brick wall of the building beside her and Jack was holding a knife to his throat. Harley was too shocked to even find it in herself to scream.

"HEY MAN WHAT THE FUCK?" The kid was clearly scared, his shoes slipping against the pavement as he tried to wriggle out of Jack's arms.

A growl was all the kid received in response. A growl and a violent slam against that wall that had him groaning in pain when his head connected with it.

"J!" Harley moved forward carefully, putting an arm on Jack's shoulder and ignoring the way he tried to shake it off. "Let him go."

Licking his lips, Jack shook his head. His tongue took extra care to worry at one of his scars before he glanced over his shoulder at her. "Don't worry, Harley, I'm just gonna have a little fun with our new friend."

It occurred to Harley as she stood there, watching Jack threaten a terrified teenager in the glow of a streetlight, that she would have liked nothing more than to watch the little shit get what was coming to him. The only reason she urged Jack to let him go was for fear of them being caught.

She watched in stunned, fascinated silence as he dug his elbow into the kid's arm, urging him to drop the gun. The weapon fell to the ground with a dull thud and Jack leered down at the mugger, pressing the knife hard enough against his throat to draw a thin line of blood.

"You wanna pick that up, sweetheart?" Jack asked, glancing over at Harley. "Don't want junior here getting any ideas about getting away."

Nodding, Harley moved forward. She felt distant, numb. Even as she picked up the kid's weapon and slipped it into her purse, the scene continued to feel increasingly surreal.

It was about then that the kid started begging. Desperate, meaningless words fell from his lips and onto Jack's deaf ears. Shaking his head, Jack clicked his tongue in disapproval and shushed him with deceptively sweet whispers.

"Hey, hey, hey. Look at me." His voice once again had that high, sing-song quality to it. "No need to be scared. I'm not gonna kill you…unless you deserve it."

It felt as though she were watching this play out at a distance. Physically Harley stood a few feet from a man for whom she had very mixed feelings as he defended her from a mugger, but mentally she felt as though she were watching all of this at a distance. The mugger and Jack were talking - or rather, Jack was talking and the kid made terrified whimpering sounds every so often – and Harley was hearing none of it. Just distant mutters that seemed to come from miles away. It felt as though she were dreaming, but couldn't wake.

"I can tell you right now that little lady you were threatening doesn't have a penny to her name," Jack was saying. "Was trying to steal an empty wallet worth all of this trouble? Hmmm?"

"N-no." By the way the mugger was shaking, Harley was certain he was about to piss himself in fear. Funny how he could pull a gun on someone, but when the tables were turned he showed less courage than Harley had in the face of his threats.

"No?" Jack's voice was full of mock concern, a laugh threatening to claw its way up his throat. "Then why did you do it?"

The kid shook his head and tried to look away, but Jack grabbed his face and turned his head forcefully back to center. His teeth were bared and the sheer amount of fury in his eyes was enough to make Harley step back.

"She looked weak!" He was nearly crying now, and Harley could see Jack fighting back the urge to laugh at him.

"He says you looked weak, sugar." The amusement in Jack's voice was unmistakable. "You still think I should let him go? You sure you don't want to prove to him just how strong you really are?"

Harley looked away, debating whether or not to run. Her house was less than two blocks away. She could leave Jack to threaten the mugger and book it home. Curl up in bed and forget this entire night had happened.

"Harrrrllleeeeeyyyy. We're waiting."

In her mind, Harley could see the scene play out. Pictured herself edging up next to Jack and spraying the young man at point blank range with the mace in her purse. It would have been satisfying - would have probably pleased Jack to no end - but Harley couldn't bring herself to make it a reality.

Crossing her arms over her chest, Harley shook her head. "It's fine. I wanna go home."

Jack gave an indignant grunt and raised an eyebrow at her. "You sure?"

Staring at her feet, Harley nodded. "Yeah."

With a passive shrug, Jack removed the knife from the mugger's throat and took hold of his collar. In one swift movement, he shoved the boy to the ground and planted a foot firmly on his chest.

"Your lucky day." He sneered, his head cocking to an unnatural angle. "Now get lost."

A good kick in the ribs had the boy groaning in pain, but it didn't stop him from scrambling to his feet and running as fast as possible in the direction from which he had come.

When Jack turned back to Harley, his eyes were still dark and his shoulders hunched. Once again Harley was reminded of a black hole, felt her breath slipping away as she stared at him.

And this time, when the tears stung hot and violent in her eyes, she let them come. She reached out and grabbed handfuls of Jack's shirt and pulled herself close to him as she wept openly into his chest.

"I'm sorry." The words came out muffled, but she continued to repeat them over and over. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

It was like a chant, a mantra to bring them closer together. Even when he carefully placed his hands on her shoulders and pushed her to arm's length and made her stand hunched like a scarecrow in the rain, she couldn't stop the flow of tears and the words that mixed with them.

"I shouldn't have left. I'm sorry. I didn't mean…I don't want…I'm sorry."

When her crying did not cease, he pulled her close again, his hand moving to pat her shoulder slowly and uncertainly.

"Shhhhshshshshush." The warmth of his breath ghosted over her ear. "Don't cry."

Her shoulders shook violently as she drew in a breath, her eyes pressed shut in desperate attempt to dam the tears that continued to fall. "I'm sorry. I can't help it. Today…has just been…"

Shaking her head, she let out a defeated sob against his shoulder. Her arms wrapped around him, trying to pull him as close as she possibly could. When she sucked in a quivering breath, her senses were overwhelmed by his scent. A strange mix of gasoline, sweat, and chemicals she didn't recognize filled her nostrils. It should have disgusted her, but she found herself calming each time she filled her lungs with it.

It felt familiar, comforting.

He didn't object when she leaned against him heavily, hanging onto him like a life raft to keep from drowning. He was muttering what she chose to believe were little sweet nothings to get her to smile. And eventually she complied, giving him a weak grin as she looked up to meet his eyes.

"Thank you." Her voice was hoarse, but she managed to finally stop crying. "Not just for saving me, but for the money and your patience. For everything."

The right side of his mouth twitched up in a weak attempt at a grin and she only assumed that grunt he gave her was a way of saying "you're welcome." Once again he planted both hands on her shoulders and pushed her out to arm's length.

"Better?" he asked, and she could tell his patience was short.

Embarrassed, she shrugged and looked away from him. "Yeah."

"Good. Now let's get you home."

His arm rested lazily over her shoulders as they began to walk in the direction of her apartment. No attempt was made on his part to act as though he did not know the way, his long strides leading her along the path as though he had traveled this way a thousand times.

Logically she knew that should bother her; that she should do everything in her power to get away from him. Here she was, walking down the road cuddled close to a man that had given her stolen money, admitted to stealing that money himself, and had openly threatened to harm her should she choose to betray his trust. This entire night seemed wrong and confusing and very much like a bad dream.

The flip side of that coin, however, was that she now knew without even a sliver of a doubt that Jack had feelings for her. At least, he seemed to in his strange way. After weeks of trying to get under his skin far enough to figure out what drew her to him and whether he was even remotely interested in her, she knew. Though the nature of his interest remained a mystery, he cared enough to listen to her troubles, to give her money to ease her financial crisis, and he had saved her from a fucking mugger.

That last part still felt surreal. All of it did. Had his arm not been anchoring her to him, she would have thought he was a figment of her imagination as well.

But he was real, he was so real. Heat rolled off his body in waves that radiated straight to Harley's core. It left her feeling safe, content. After months of feeling cold, his warmth felt like some sort of godsend. Like their meeting had been fate and maybe, just maybe, she could risk opening herself up to someone again.

A cynical little voice somewhere in her mind reminded her that the man she was currently considering opening up to was wanted for armed robbery. But as they turned the corner and approached her apartment's front entrance, she pointedly put it out of her mind and pulled her keys from her purse.

"This is your stop, sugar." Without even looking at him she could hear that he was smiling.

When she turned to face him she couldn't help smiling in return. It amazed her how genuinely pleased he looked in that moment. The way his eyes lit up and gleamed in the glow of the streetlight, stars igniting in the depths of space.

"You want to come upstairs?" Harley asked, stepping close to him. "The least I can do is offer you a drink for saving me back there."

His smile faltered, eyes squinting as he looked her over. He seemed to be debating, searching for something in her face. That pink tongue of his ran over his lips, prodding at his scars as his eyes rolled in contemplation. "Any chance I can get you to make me some coffee if I say yes?"

That took her off guard and Harley let out a squawk of surprised laughter. "Shit. Yeah. Of course. I could probably use a cup myself."

Still laughing, she entered the passcode on the front door keypad and let him slip through the door before her. Together they made the ascent up the stairs to the fourth floor and Harley felt her heart begin to kick up speed as she led him into the hallway.

This was the first time in nearly eight months she had brought a man home. The first time she had ever brought one to this apartment, come to think of it, and she had no idea how the rest of the night was going to go. A whole number of scenarios played out in her head, half of them innocent where she and Jack spent the night talking and really getting to know each other, while the rest were significantly less innocent. She wasn't sure how she felt about those. Certainly not negatively, just…nervous.

After all, she hadn't been with a man since her ex. He had always been the romantic type, all deep kisses and slowly rocking each other into oblivion. It wasn't exactly Harley's style, but far be it for her to admit what she really enjoyed to a man like that.

"You gonna open the door sugar? Or did you plan for us to spend the night in the hall?" Jack was laughing and Harley felt herself blush on instinct.

With a violent shake of her head, she came back to her mind properly and placed herself firmly in the moment. Back with him.

"Sorry." She fetched her keys from her purse and opened the lock. "Got distracted."

The door to her apartment swung inward with a groan, which was exactly how she felt about showing him her dismal living space. As she led him into the room, she flicked on the light and cast the open room in dim golden light.

It was strange how having him here made her suddenly hyper-aware of all the things she hated about the place. The once-beige carpet was stained black in places and riddled with cigarette burns, the linoleum in the kitchen was starting to come up in places, and the countertop chipped around the edges. Because she had never had money to decorate, there was not much to catch the eye other than her threadbare couch and her paintings propped against the wall.

"I'm going to make that coffee. Feel free to look around." And even as she said this she was slipping into the kitchen to keep herself from overanalyzing the whole situation.

She couldn't bear the thought of seeing disappointment or disapproval crease his face as he inspected her living space. The idea of seeing him look her paintings over was even worse.

Feeling she had to impress him somehow, she took the French Press out of the cupboard and put the kettle on to boil. The only coffee she had in the cupboard was a dark roast, but she very much doubted her guest would mind.

In the living room, she could hear him shuffling around. He had been uncharacteristically quiet since they had arrived and she feared it was because he suddenly regretted coming upstairs with her. What if seeing the inside of her apartment had convinced him that she was unworthy of his affections? The squalor she lived in was unimpressive and she only hoped it wouldn't drive him away. Taking someone home to this was embarrassing, if he left because of it she would be absolutely devastated.

Pressing her lips together in a thin frown, she allowed herself a glance over her shoulder to the living room. He was looking at one of her paintings, his lips moving wordlessly as he leaned a little closer to inspect the "Bat Signal" she had painted in the sky. When she caught him frowning, she looked away quickly.

How silly had she been to think that her apartment would drive him away? No, it was her shitty art that would put the nail in the coffin.

Trying not to feel angry with herself, she went back to making coffee. Even went so far as to grab the leftover pastries out of the fridge that Annika had sent home with her the previous day. It made her feel like a significantly better hostess.

The water warmed up quicker than usual and she poured it carefully over the coffee grounds, trying hard to ignore the tension that seemed to be thickening the air. Neither of them had said a word, and the silence was starting to border on awkward. It was her doing and she knew it. She should have kept him company before disappearing into the kitchen to wallow in her own embarrassment and anxiety.

This whole situation was playing out in all the wrong ways. She liked him, really she did. All she wanted was to let him know that, while still keeping him conscious of her situation and keeping herself aware of who and what he was. There were too many variables, too many things that didn't match up. It was all wrong place and wrong time, but somehow she refused to let it go. He was interesting and funny and she would get to know him if it was the fucking death of her. Every time she looked at him she was filled with sparks and butterflies, and back at the bar when he had admitted to harboring some sort of feelings for her it had momentarily sent her over the moon.

Taking a deep breath, she cleared her throat and put the lid on the French Press. She needed to put herself out there. To roll the dice and play the game and see where it took her. Where it took them.

"Would you like any cream or sugar?" she asked because she could think of nothing else to say.

"You already know the answer to that, sweetheart." His voice was so close that she actually shrieked and jumped, which only made him cackle.

When she spun around, she found herself nearly nose to nose with him.

"Jesus Christ." She was laughing, but her heart was beating so hard she could feel it in her throat. "You fucking... I didn't even hear you come into the kitchen."

As he took a step back, he was still laughing. Casually he itched the back of his neck, his head dipping forward as he looked almost sheepishly at her.

"Did I scare you?" The question seemed to amuse him enough to make those dark eyes of his spark.

"Yes," she replied honestly. "You scared the shit out of me."

Wrinkling his nose, he frowned at her. "Well, that does explain the smell."

Harley found herself completely speechless at the joke. She wanted to be offended or embarrassed, but all she could manage to do was laugh in exasperation as she gave his shoulder a playful shove. "You're a fucking asshole!"

And then she shoved him again just for good measure, the smile never once fading from her face.

He caught her hands that time. Wrapped both wrists in the hold of one strong hand and pulled her toward him. Her elbows collided with his stomach and stumbled forward, that grin transferring from her face to his as she found herself suddenly flush against him.

His forehead was nearly touching hers as he bared his teeth. "I dare you to say that again."

Though his voice was dark, threatening even, Harley didn't feel the slightest bit of fear. Raising her chin in defiance, she pushed herself closer to him. They were perfectly lined up now, would have been hip to hip and chest to chest were he not a good head taller than she.

"You're a fucking asshole."

His eyes darkened the briefest of seconds before he grinned like the devil himself. "Mmmm, baby, I like it when you talk dirty to me."

With a scoff, Harley tried to wriggle out of his grip. His hold on her wrists only tightened and she laughed to disguise the fact it hurt just a bit. Again she tried to break away from him and this time when he squeezed her wrists she sucked in a sharp breath. The intensity of his grasp let up enough to stop the pain, but still he refused to let her escape.

His free hand moved to rest on the small of her back and he urged her closer still. The contact caused Harley to gasp and he didn't miss it, nor did he miss the way her eyes dilated as she pressed her chest against his. Heat radiated from both of them, their lips just inches apart, if one of them were to lean just a bit closer...

"You know." Harley's voice was quiet and breathy. "If you don't let me go, the coffee is going to get cold."

Growling low in his throat, he released her hands and took a step back. "I'm pretty sure that wasting coffee is some sort of mortal sin, so you'd better pour us some. But as soon as it's gone, you're in for it."

Putting a little extra sway in her hips, Harley turned and went back to the counter. "I'm looking forward to it."

The laugh he let out surprised her, his cackle high pitched and manic. It made her hesitate before picking up the pot of coffee and pouring them each a cup.

"You are an absolute riot, Harley." He leaned casually against her counter, picking up one of the mugs and taking a sip from it. His eyes closed as he savored the taste and when he pulled the mug from his lips he was grinning. "And I still have damn good taste."

Her insides fluttered at his words, but she tried to play dumb. "In coffee?"

"And the women who make it."

Grinning at him over the rim of her mug, she raised an eyebrow. "You take home baristas often?"

He returned the expression and took another drink from his mug. "Only one, but she makes the best damn coffee I've ever had."

A hot blush rushed to color Harley's cheeks. "Must be one hell of a barista."

Rolling his eyes, he shrugged. "Already told you sugar, you managed to get up here." He tapped his temple with his index finger. "Gotta be special to do that."

Harley pulled a face. "Or just incredibly persistent."

For a moment he looked almost confused, but his head shook insistently and he stepped closer to her. Once again she found him standing far closer to her personal space than she was accustomed to and it almost caused her to take a step back. The movement always seemed predatory on his part, testing her boundaries to figure out how to push her buttons.

The toes of their shoes were nearly touching when he stopped and leered over her. His eyes narrowed and he scrutinized every inch of her face, moving from side to side and making a low contemplative noise all the while. Fighting that urge to step back, Harley lifted her gaze to meet his and followed him with her eyes, refusing to let her expression give away anything.

This was a game to him, a game she didn't know the rules to but still was forced to play. Despite the whole thing being stacked against her, she refused to let him win without giving him a run for his money.

His brows knitted together and he cocked his head to the side, still not satisfied with what he was seeing. Annoyed, Harley copied his expression and pressed her body into his space. When his head turned the other way, she mirrored the movement and tried to hide her smile.

Two could play at this game.

Suddenly he stepped to the side, quicker than she had expected. After a moment's hesitation, she followed. And then he moved again, and again she followed. It was like a dance. Two more steps and the counter was pressed against her back and when he lunged forward she reacted on instinct, put her hands on his shoulders and used the momentum to jump up and perch herself on the countertop.

"Can I ask what we're doing now?" There was no stopping the smile that spread across her face when she noticed he looked impressed at her for dodging him.

"I was testing you." It wasn't a joke, she knew that. He was being far too matter-of-fact for that. "I just wanted to see how long we were going to dance around each other."

It was like he spoke completely in riddles sometimes. Clearly it made sense to him, she could almost see the gears in his mind turning. Every time they were together she noticed the way he was constantly observing her, picking her apart with his eyes and making mental notes of the way she reacted. He was a scientist and she was his newest test subject.

"And what results did you find?" Pressing her heels against the counter, she pushed herself toward him and touched her bent knees against his thighs.

The contact seemed to surprise him and he glanced down at her legs before looking back up to her face.

"Well, you weren't lying about being persistent." His eyes flicked up to the ceiling as he thought before he casually rolled them back to catch hers. "But more importantly, I realized I don't intimidate you. Not yet."

That made Harley's pulse kick up again. "Not yet?"

He leaned a little closer to her, dropping his voice as though he were letting her in on a big conspiracy. "You haven't seen me in my warpaint yet."

"You think a little facepaint is gonna intimidate me?" She raised her eyebrows, making it clear she was challenging him. "I wear makeup everyday, puddin'. It ain't gonna make any difference."

Warm hands moved to rest on her knees and he gently pushed away from her. It took Harley a moment to realize he looked angry. "We'll see."

He turned away from her then, that hunch in his shoulders returning as he began to walk toward the door.

It felt to Harley as though he had just punched her in the gut. Had she said something wrong? Should she have taken the bait and told him that he would terrify her with his facepaint? That she would take on the same attitude that the cops had and call him a freak?

"Hey!" In one fluid motion she slid off the counter and stomped after him. "Where are you going?"

The moment her fingers dug into the material of his jacket he spun around, growling as he shoved her back. It wasn't particularly hard, but she stumbled all the same, landing on her ass in the middle of the kitchen. His hulking form towered over her and she could see the way he was sneering down at her as if daring her to tell him she didn't find him intimidating.

On instinct she shut her eyes, bringing a feeble arm up to guard herself because suddenly it felt as though she was not in her apartment kitchen. Suddenly she was back in her parents' house. She was seven again and her father was drunk. A whimper left her lips and she tucked her head as she waited for the blow that would inevitably come.

The entire apartment complex groaned as the power cut and Harley came back to herself.

Slowly Harley lowered her arm, glancing around in the almost complete darkness of the kitchen. There had been no footsteps, so she assumed Jack had not moved. A dark shape stood in front of her that she knew to be him. With careful, quiet motions she began to back away from him.

Once she felt there was proper space between them, she rose to her feet and cursed under her breath. "Not again. That's the third fucking time the power's gone out this week."

She began moving again, pointedly ignoring what had just happened between them. There was a breaker somewhere in the complex that kept turning off and taking her power out. The landlord could fix it, but she wouldn't be excited about being woken up to do it. Harley just hoped she wasn't asleep yet...

"You alright?" Jack's voice split the darkness and hit her squarely in the chest. It wasn't his usual drawl, but quiet and concerned. "I didn't mean to shove you like that. Really I didn't. Shit, Harley, I'm so sorry."

Shutting her eyes, Harley bit her bottom lip and did her best not to let her voice betray how upset she was. "It's alright, I just…"

"No, it's not alright. It's not." His footsteps started toward her and she felt herself tense. "I saw the way you got scared of me." He stopped a few feet away from her. "Who put that fear in you, sweetheart?"

Harley crossed her arms over her chest. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I told you not to bullshit me, sugar. You fucking whimpered like a kicked puppy." There was something in his voice, like he himself was about to admit something nasty and terrible to her. "That doesn't just happen by accident. Somebody hit you one too many times, didn't they?"

The black mass of his body moved closer, standing directly in her space but making no move to touch her.

Shaking her head, she took a step away from him. "Please, don't push this."

This was not the time nor the place to get into what an asshole her father had been. Not when her emotions were already running so high from the absolute rollercoaster tonight had already been. There was a damn good reason her mother had left him, and his treatment of their daughter was no small part of it. But she wasn't ready to tell Jack that, not yet.

Without missing a beat, he picked up on this and raised his hands as though surrendering.

"You, uh, you want me to go?" It sounded like that was the last thing he wanted to do, but Harley found herself nodding.

"Yeah." Her voice was no more than a hoarse whisper. "I think that would be best."

"Probably best." In the moonlight streaming through the kitchen window, she could see him nod. "Busy day tomorrow anyway."

He turned and started toward the door, the low rumble of his voice drifting to her ears as he went, though she couldn't make out the words. At the door he paused, turning his head to glance over his shoulder at her.

"Don't go to Gotham City Bank tomorrow, alright? Especially not around 3 o'clock." The words sounded like a warning and an apology all at once.

"Will I see you in the morning?" She tried to make the question sound light, but it was laced with the guilt of asking him to leave. "You can't pull off a big heist without some caffeine in the bloodstream."

It was hard to tell, but she was near certain he smiled. "Goodnight, Harley."

"See you in the morning, J."

And as the door closed behind him she hoped more than anything that she would.


	3. It Will Come Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harley officially meets The Joker and they discuss philosophy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally this chapter was named "Parabol" after the Tool song, but as it has aged this song has felt infinitely more fitting.

“Don't let me in with no intention to keep me  
Jesus Christ don't be kind to me  
Honey don't feed me  
I will come back"

~Hozier "It Will Come Back"

///

When Harley came home that night, feet sore and limbs heavy, she wanted nothing more than to collapse in bed and sleep for as long as possible. Seeing as Annika had graciously given her Friday off, there was a damn good chance Harley would just sleep the entire day.

By the time she had reached the door to her apartment, she had bargained herself out of even trying to paint that night. Usually it was something of a decompressing exercise, but tonight she very much doubted she had the will or motor skill to successfully put brush to canvas. Perhaps she would dedicate her day off to painting. That way she could feel less bad about ignoring it tonight.

If she finished up her projects tomorrow, she would officially have ten paintings that she could finally consider trying to sell. It felt like a long shot, especially when she considered the face Jack had pulled the previous night when looking at her cityscape painting. She still felt sour about it every time it crossed her mind. What did he know about art? Probably nothing. Perhaps she was being too hard on herself and putting too much worth in his opinion.

Which of them had an art degree? Not him.

Not as far as she knew, at least. There was always a chance he could surprise her, but art didn’t really seem his style. He was more of a science or math person. Or bank robbery, as the case may be.

No matter how many times she thought about that, it still felt impossible to wrap her head around. It wasn’t that Jack didn’t seem like the criminal type. Honestly, she wasn’t sure what the “criminal type” was like, but Jack was mysterious and odd enough that she didn’t necessarily put it past him even before he had admitted it to her himself.

What really threw her about the whole thing was just how intricate his plans were. The man was a genius, whether the media and law enforcement agencies painted him as one or not. At the crime scene they had found the bodies of all five of the man’s accomplices. Every detail of that heist had been thought out elaborately, planned to a tee. She had no idea how he had done it. The same man that had nearly kissed her in her kitchen the night before, the man who drank coffee like water, the man who had given her ten thousand dollars from his last heist just to make sure she would be able to pay rent and eat. That man had singlehandedly planned one of the most elaborate heists Gotham had ever seen and allegedly used a fucking school bus as a getaway vehicle.

_“Where are you not going around 3 o’clock this afternoon?” he had asked that morning as she prepared his coffee._

__

__

_“Gotham City bank.”_

__

_“That’s my girl!”_

She really liked when he called her that.

It was strange because never in her life had she enjoyed someone laying claim to her. She was a grown woman, not some man’s toy or eye candy. But Jack? Jack could call her whatever the hell he wanted. His presence made her feel safe, secure. For him to refer to her as his was not to claim her as his property, but to assure her that he would keep her safe.

For knowing so little about him, she probably put more faith in him having honest intentions than she should have. It didn’t matter, though, not really.

As she moved through her living room, leaving her purse on the coffee table as she went, the paintings sitting on the floor seemed to call to her. To remind her that she had made the promise to herself that she would not only finish them, but sell them sometime soon. That they would be her main source of income by winter. A long shot, yes, but she would never get anywhere if she didn’t put effort into them.

Feeling guilty for trying to talk herself out of painting that night, she brewed a pot of coffee and decided it couldn’t hurt to dedicate an hour or two to painting. Just long enough to put the finishing touches on one of her pieces. It shouldn’t take long and the coffee would help her focus.

By the time she had poured herself a cup, she had justified finishing two paintings and potentially brewing enough coffee to get her through the night. Friday was her day off, she could sleep then, right?

Motivation began to pump through her like adrenaline, lacing her blood and making her mind spin. Paints were gathered, colors mixed, and by the time she settled in the living room she was ready to take on a whole mess of projects. She was a cup of coffee in and feeling as close to on top of the world as she was capable of in the state of exhaustion she was in.

So exhausted she had nearly forgotten her coffee in the kitchen…

Rolling her eyes at her own forgetfulness, she carefully set the brush she was about to use on the coffee table and moved back to the kitchen. For a moment she stood at the counter, breathing deep and gathering herself as she sipped from her mug.

That motivation she had found made her feel a swelling sense of pride. She may not have been the most talented artist, but she was persistent and felt that counted for something. If she could sell even a painting or two every month, she could cut down on her hours at the coffee shop and still probably make ends meet.

Plus there was that sum of money Jack had given her that was still tucked under her bed where she had hidden it. Between the three sources of income she could probably afford to move out of this dump and find a better apartment just for her.

“Did you make enough for both of us, sugar?”

Harley let out a screech and nearly dropped her mug at the sound of Jack’s voice.

“Jesus FUCKING CHRIST!” Her breath was coming in frightened pants and she could hear the unmistakable sound of his laughter.

Holding the counter for support, she managed to catch her breath and slow the pounding of her heart before turning around and nearly losing it again.

The grinning face that filled her vision was not the Jack she was used to seeing. Instead, it was painted white with smudges of black around his eyes and a smear of red across his lips and up the scars on his cheeks.

Warpaint.

As she stared at him, she began to piece together the fact that the paint on his face was likely a way to overemphasize how he believed others saw him. The eyes she understood instantly. Black holes. Always those black holes ready to suck her in and consume her light.

The scars, though, those she never really noticed. Without this garish red to highlight them, she often forgot they were there. When she looked at his face, she saw the whole of him, the scars seeming just another feature. But looking at him like this, she felt she began to piece together not only how he believed others saw him, but how he saw himself.

From the way he was staring at her, she knew she he was waiting for her to say something. He wanted to know what she thought. Since he hadn’t actually managed to give her a heart attack, he wanted verbal feedback.

Swallowing hard, she squinted at him. Tried to see the man she recognized beneath the make up. Still breathing hard, she met his eyes properly for the first time. It was in those eyes that she finally managed to find him.

“J, you fucking…asshole! Shit!” She couldn’t help laughing now.

Laughing at herself for the way she had reacted, at him for showing up like that and scaring her half to death in her kitchen. Speaking of, how the hell had he managed to get in?

Furrowing her brow, she asked him as much. “How the hell did you get in here?”

With a casual shrug, he moved past her to grab a mug out of the cupboard and helped himself to her pot of coffee. “Through the window.”

“Through the window?” Harley crossed her arms over her chest. “But I didn’t even hear you on the fire escape. I was right there.”

Nodding, he sipped his coffee. “And I was being sneaky.”

The casual way with which he was treating this whole situation confused Harley to no end. She wanted to be angry, wanted to yell at him for sneaking up on her and frightening her, and for being stupid enough to go gallivanting around the city in his makeup and…what the actual fuck was he wearing? That shirt was hideous.

A step back granted her better view of her surprise houseguest and his ridiculous wardrobe. Ragged black suit jacket, light blue shirt with some god awful line pattern, and wrinkled black slacks. For a man with a fair share of the mob’s money, he sure could have used a better tailor.

When she continued to stare at him wordlessly, he cocked his head to the side. The kitchen light hit his hair just so and she realized the once-brown curls were now dyed an awful shade of green. He’d probably done it himself and she was tempted to offer to help him next time. Maybe they could at least make it even that way.

“What are you doing here?” she asked instead.

With the makeup it was more apparent when he frowned at her, which he did in a way that made the expression look condescending and dramatic without the slightest hint of genuine hurt. “I came to have coffee with my favorite girl.”

She snorted, not even pretending to believe him. “Well, aren’t I just the luckiest girl in the world?”

The smirk he gave her was absolutely wicked, as was the way he winked at her from behind his mug. “Your words, sugar.”

Rolling her eyes, she took a sip of her coffee. “Seriously, you pull one of the most elaborate heists this city has ever seen and then expect me to believe you’re just here to have coffee?”

There was not even a moment of hesitation before his reply. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because I like talking to ya.” He took a long swig of coffee. “And what makes you think that robbery was so elaborate?”

Silence spread between them, filled only by Harley quietly sipping her coffee.

Though she bordered on proud of the fact the cops that frequented the coffee shop trusted her enough to let her in on some of the crimes they dealt with, it somehow felt like they were breaking some sort of confidentiality when they did. There was a moment where she feared that if she admitted they talked to her, they would somehow get in trouble.

And then she remembered just who was standing in her kitchen and very much doubted he would be talking to any police willingly any time soon.

“The boys told me a little bit about it.” Even after telling herself it was alright to admit to him how she knew about the robbery, her voice was still quiet. “Some of the cops that frequent were on the bomb squad that had to come in to disarm those grenades of yours. They said they found something like five bodies, all of them were wanted for armed robbery. You wiped out five of Gotham’s most active criminals and got away in a school bus at the precise time that the other buses were driving by.” Shaking her head, she took another sip of coffee. “How the hell did you even plan that? It would have taken perfect calculation. The whole thing had to go off without a hitch. You knew…I don’t even know how you could have…”

Words failed her and she shrugged, drinking more coffee to hide how impressed she felt. Standing in his presence seemed intimidating now that she knew what he was capable of. He wasn’t just some small time criminal that robbed a bank or two in hopes of getting away with it and retiring to Maui.

No, Jack was cold and calculating and knew exactly what he was doing. There was something in his planning, something that told Harley he wasn’t in this for the money. Couldn’t have been. If he wanted to do something simply for the money, he could have put that brain of his to good use and became a fucking engineer or something. There was not a doubt in her mind that he had it in him.

A glance over the rim of her cup confirmed her suspicion that he was watching her closely. He looked impressed by what she had gathered, or maybe he just enjoyed hearing his work praised. Either way, he was stepping toward her now, placing his now-empty coffee cup on the counter as he moved close to her.

“You do know.” The statement was matter-of-fact and left no room for her to argue. “Don’t sell yourself short, sweetheart.”

Shrugging, Harley finished her coffee and set the cup on the counter near his. “I’m not selling myself short. I’m not the criminal mastermind here.”

With a dismissive snort, he rolled his eyes at the ceiling and leaned against the counter next to her. “C’mon, Harley, tell me what you think went into this.” Licking his lips, he caught her eyes and leaned toward her. “Indulge me.”

Those words alone were enough to make her shiver, but she fought against it. There was not even the slightest idea in her mind why he was so insistent that she explain his heist, but she couldn’t bring herself to say no to his request.

Her mind ran slowly after having worked so many hours that day, but she managed to piece together most of the puzzle.

“It’s mostly intel gathering, I guess.” Though she was hesitant when she spoke, he nodded enthusiastically to egg her on. “You would have had to disarm the alarm system so they didn’t ring out to the cops right away, get the civilians rigged up with those grenades, break into the safe….And then there’s the safe itself… Plus, you took a fuckton of money. You needed to figure out how long it was going to take to load that. I mean, I guess it’s not that complicated, but the timing has me thrown.”

For a moment he watched her expectantly, as though he thought she would go on. It made her feel self-conscious about missing details. As though he expected her to somehow be better at this.

“You forgot the part where I managed to convince all the goons to kill each other.” The grin he gave her seemed proud, if not a little underwhelmed. “But not bad for your first time. We’ll make a criminal mastermind out of you yet.”

Laughing, Harley shook her head. “I don’t think so. I just make coffee for the criminal mastermind.”

The sound he made bordered on annoyed and he shook his head emphatically at her. “No no no, sugar. I told ya, don’t sell yourself short. There’s a lot more going on in here than you let on.” His index finger lightly tapped her temple. “You just don’t like letting people in on it. But I can see it. I’ve got you figured out.”

Not sure how to take that, Harley pulled a face. He had her figured out? What the hell was that supposed to mean? There wasn’t much to her lately, that was a fact she wasn’t afraid to admit. All she seemed capable of was overworking herself and being constantly stressed about money she didn’t have. To hear Jack talk, one would have thought she was some elaborate jigsaw puzzle to be put together. A work of art he had been slowly working away at until it was as perfectly detailed and elaborate as he could manage.

“And now that you’ve got me figured out, you’re going to train me to help you rob banks, is that it?” There was unmistakable cynicism in her words, but he seemed unphased by it. “If you think that’s going to work, I don’t think you’ve got me figured out at all.”

That got him going. Clearly agitated, he ran his tongue across his bottom lip and stepped closer to her. His hand moved to cover hers on the counter and she stared blankly at it for a moment, the contact with his leather gloves surprising her. They were significantly colder than his skin tended to be.

“But I do have you figured out, Harley.” He nodded insistently and went on as though to prove it. “You play dumb because you don’t want other people to notice all the things going on in that quick little mind of yours. Being penniless has dragged you so far down that you forget it yourself sometimes. You’re quick, though, too quick. Too quick to just have air in that little head of yours, at least. You fool most people, but not me. I saw it that very first day and that’s why I kept coming back. You play the part of the cute little barista, but the whole time I ordered I could see those cogs in your brain turning. You were trying to figure me out, I could see it.”

Another step forward had him close enough that she could feel the heat of his body, close enough that she could see the pores of his skin beneath the greasepaint.

“You know, you almost had me fooled for a while,” he went on, looking away from her as he wet his lips. “I thought I was wasting my time on you, that I was thinking too hard about it. Had to take a couple of days away. And when I came back…oh you were angry and I could see it. Doesn’t take much to warm you back up, though, does it? And once I got ya talkin’ again I knew. People underestimate you Harley, just like they underestimate me. We’re two of a kind.”

Harley felt her face darken as she tried to piece together what he was saying, tried to make sense of the seeming nonsense he was spewing at her. Whether or not he had her pinned down seemed debatable, but there was warmth mixed with that cynicism she was feeling.

They were the same. He knew as well as she that they were more alike than either would have liked to admit. That she may not be capable of the things he was, but they understood each other. He could read her as easily as she was beginning to read him.

“You know what I think?” She moved a little closer into his space, maintained just enough distance to keep them entirely aware of each other.

Black eyes glanced down at her, at the small distance between them. “What is that, sugar?”

“You have to guess.” Giggling, she rested her hands against the counter behind her. And if she happened to stick out her chest just a bit to catch his attention, then so be it. “If you have me so figured out, you tell me.”

Deflating a little, he took a step back. “Honey, I’m a clown, not a mind reader. And I’m not even a real clown.”

“Well, that’s no fun.” She pouted at him and twisted sheepishly in place. “But if you can’t play along, then I guess…”

There was not a doubt in her mind that he would take the bait, but she turned away from him all the same. Moved as though she were going to make a new pot of coffee, despite feeling his eyes burning into her back.

Sure enough, he didn’t disappoint. She had not so much as moved her hand toward the pot and his hand was on her shoulder. When he spun her around, he did it with enough force to make her dizzy before trapping her in place at the counter with a hand on either side of her body.

“Fine, fine, you win.” The words were muttered under his breath, frustration clear in them.

And then his hand was on the back of her neck and urging her face forward as he slammed his mouth against hers. It wasn’t a tender kiss by any means. Desperate and greedy and far too insistent. He could suffocate her with a kiss like that.

But she ate it up, responded with fervor once the initial shock wore off. Her arms wrapped around his neck and fingers tangled in his mess of curly hair. Just as she had expected – hoped even – that tongue of his came snaking across her lips and her mouth opened on instinct. With all of her might, she pulled him closer, pressed herself against him as though trying to meld their bodies together.

The taste of his breath filled her mouth and she almost laughed when she realized that it was bitter just like the coffee he’d just finished. Of course he tasted like fucking coffee. Coffee and…something else. Something chalky, yet thick and greasy...

Greasepaint.

Oh, shit, she had nearly forgotten about his face being painted. They were probably both covered in it by now. It didn’t matter. Too late to do anything about it now.

When it all became too much, when neither could quite breathe from their will to steal each others’ air, he was the first to break away from her. He was panting, just as she was, his eyes unfocused and dizzy. His forehead pressed against hers and he groaned out her name like it was something sinful.

“Harrrlleeeeyy.” Had she any breath left in her lungs, she would have laughed at how satisfied he sounded. “Something tells me you’re thinking I should have done that sooner.”

She managed to let out a chuckle. “Close enough.”

Suddenly he stepped back from her, just enough to get a proper look at her face. It allowed her a good look at the smear of red that was now faded and mixed with white. Around his lips and chin there were patches of skin showing through and she knew that it must have transferred to her.

“I know what you’re thinking.” Her chest was still heaving, her voice barely more than a whisper.

He raised an eyebrow and pulled against him. “That so?”

“Yeah.” Grinning, she stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips against the shell of his ear. “You’re thinking you want to see just how much of that paint you can get on me.”

The low approving sound he made heat bloom in the pit of her stomach and shoot straight to her groin.

“You think so?” He sucked her earlobe between his teeth and nipped at it to make her gasp.

“Mmmm, I know so.” Turning her head, she brushed her nose against the puckered scar tissue on his cheek.

That actually made his breathing hitch. For a moment she was afraid it caused him pain, but then he took her left hand and pressed it to the other cheek. Her thumb ran along the curve of his permanent grin and he let out a quivering breath.

“Do you know how long it’s been?” he asked, his breath hot against her cheek.

That confused her a little, and she leaned back to look him in the face. “What?”

“No one touches my scars, Harley.” There was something distracted in his voice. “It’s been…fuck I don't even remember the last time someone touched my face like that.” He looked at her seriously, his fingers ghosting over her cheek. “They don’t bother you, do they?”

Her brow furrowed and she shook her head. “What?”

“The scars, Harley.” He sounded frustrated, but there was sadness in his eyes that she didn’t miss. “They don’t disgust you.”

“What? No. Of course not.” Just to emphasize that point, she let both palms rest against the scars on either side of his cheeks. “I don’t even…I don’t notice them. I mean, it’s just part of your face. With the paint they’re…I dunno, highlighted? But…” She shrugged, unable to formulate the words she wanted. “They certainly don’t take away from you. Nothing could ruin your face, sweetheart.”

When he laughed, she couldn’t help feeling like it was to cover up whatever her words had made him feel. She wondered how many people had judged him for those scars, how many women had turned him down because of them. Admittedly, they had been what initially drew her to him, but not out of disgust. Curiosity was probably closer to it, but she wasn’t sure how to admit that.

And no matter what he was hiding, no matter what he was thinking, he was suddenly sucking on her neck, his teeth undoubtedly leaving bruises in their wake. Just like that she was lost to him, her knees buckling under her. When she leaned her head to the side to grant him better access, he rewarded her by licking her neck from shoulder to jaw. Gasping at the sensation, she moved her hands to his hips and hooked her fingers in his belt loops to pull him closer.

“You like that?” There was no missing the amusement in his voice.

His lips traced the marks his teeth had left behind and he took extra care to make sure a smear of paint was left in their wake before moving to make the other side match. Groaning low in her throat, Harley threw back her head and ground her hips against him.

“Oh, I think you do.” His fingers found the buttons on her blouse and he began undoing them as he watched her chest rise and fall in desperate breaths. “Let’s see how you like this, hm?”

The moment his mouth latched onto her collarbone, she arched up to him with a gasp. “Jesus Christ, Jack.”

When he broke contact she let out a huff of displeasure.

“I told you not to call me that, sugar.”

Harley rolled her eyes and moved to kiss the skin of his neck, but he pushed her back and forced her head up to meet his eyes.

“It’s not who I am anymore.” His face fell, eyes growing serious. “I haven’t been that man for a while.”

Trying not to seem annoyed, Harley gave a nod of understanding. “Then what am I supposed to call you?”

“I told you, it’s J. Short for Joker. That’s who I am, that’s what you’ll call me. Understand?”

Again she nodded. “It’s just…strange, I guess.”

“Remember who you’re talking to, sweetheart.” He smiled at her in that odd way that seemed like he was baring his teeth, and let out a snicker as he pressed his forehead against hers. “But if it really bothers you to call me J, you can call me daddy when you’re feeling particularly kinky.”

Unable to help herself, she let out a cackle at that. “There is no way in hell.”

Grinning, he went back to unbuttoning her shirt. “But, baby, daddy likes it when you talk dirty.”

“I swear, if you don’t cut it out…” The rest of her threat was lost in a sharp inhale as his hand slipped beneath the fabric of her bra and began to massage the tender flesh of her breast.

“What’s that? Daddy didn’t catch it.”

Fixing him with a glare, Harley grabbed his wrist and forced his hand away. “That’s it. I warned you.”

She managed to get a step away from him before his arm wrapped around her waist to pull her back. Delighted giggles filled her ear as he placed her squarely back against the counter.

“Alright, alright, I’ll stop.” His shoulders shook with laughter and she couldn’t help grinning back at him. “You win.”

Pressing her lips together, Harley gave him a stern look.

“It was a bad joke,” he sighed, his hand moving to her hip. “I’m sorry. My jokes are bad.”

This time she allowed herself to grin. “Little ironic considering you’re the Joker.”

His eyes closed and he seemed to savor the sound of the name. “One more time. I like the way you say it.”

Grabbing the lapels of his jacket, she pulled him close again, her nearly-exposed chest pressing up against him. “C’mon, Joker. If you don’t get to it, I might not let you fuck me.”

“Mmmm, that’s my girl.”

And just like that his mouth was back to her collarbone and he was pushing the blouse off her shoulders. A heavy hand pressed against her sternum, urging her to lean back as he unclasped her bra and pulled it away with her shirt. The material fell to the floor as his mouth latched onto her nipple, making her cry out and pull him closer.

He let out a growl in response, his gloved hand running up her ribs to her other breast and massaging it lightly. Suddenly he moved back, shaking his head as he began to pull the gloves off of his hands.

“Gotta touch you properly,” he said under his breath and she was almost certain he was talking to himself rather than her.

Taking advantage of the momentary distance, Harley traced her fingers up his chest and pulled the coat off of his shoulders. She noticed almost at a distance that the purple lining was almost completely destroyed and considered asking about it. But then his hand was in her hair and he was kissing her again, his tongue plundering her mouth and his now-bare hand sending jolts of electricity through every cell he touched.

Gasping for breath, she broke away from his mouth and traced his scars with her tongue. Moved to his neck to give him a hickey as revenge for the ones she was certain he had covered her in.

“Careful there, sweetheart.” Those fingers threaded in her hair tugged her head back and she frowned at him. “I’ve gotta look professional the next couple of days. If you go covering my neck in hickeys the whole mob is gonna laugh at me.”

It was tempting to tell him that she didn't give a shit what the mob did, but knew he wouldn’t like that. Instead she brought her lips back to his and began undoing the buttons of his shirt.

There was a buzzing sound from the floor as the phone in his coat pocket began to go off. His hands stilled hers and he looked at her apologetically before stepping back and retrieving the phone from his coat.

Harley watched him check the caller ID and crossed her arms to cover her exposed chest, which she now felt very self-conscious of. Somehow him being interrupted like this brought her back down to earth, reminded her just who had been kissing her a moment ago.

It didn’t help that his face grew angry when he saw the name and he answered the call with a sharp, “What?”

In the silence that followed, Harley could hear bits and pieces of the call. It was a male voice on the other line, hurriedly going on about a drug deal. She could have sworn he said something about Batman, but it was hard to tell.

As the man on the other line spoke, Harley watched Jack’s entire demeanor change. Suddenly his shoulders were hunched, his head cocked to the side as he poked at his scars with his tongue. “Well, I’m a little busy…” 

She grinned at that, had to hold back a laugh when he glanced over at her and winked.  
But the voice was insistent and said something that made Jack – no, the Joker’s – eyes spark. “I’m on the way. Don’t fucking touch any of them until I get there. Did you get the books I asked for?”

Disappointment washed over Harley like ice water. He was leaving, wasn’t even going to finish what he started. Even as he spoke, he was buttoning his shirt back up, beginning to pull on his coat again. It made her feel cold and exposed, even though the hot summer day had left her apartment almost uncomfortably warm.

Carefully, she bent down and picked her bra off the floor. Didn’t even bother to look at him as she pulled it back on. He looked at her curiously as she did so, still listening intently to whoever was on the phone.

“Don’t you dare start without me or I will fucking skin you!” Given his tone, Harley very much doubted that he was saying that as a figure of speech..

Frowning, he rang off and stuffed his phone back in his pocket with an agitated growl.

“Well, sweetheart, much as it pains me to cut our little party short I have to work.”

Hiding her unhappiness was pointless, but Harley tried anyway as she nodded her understanding.

“Guess I’m just gonna have to wait until next time to fuck you senseless.” He was grinning down at her. “But don’t worry, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Harley shook her head. “I don’t work tomorrow.”

“I know.”

He kissed her quickly, just as insistent and desperate as before. Once he had properly stolen her breath, he turned and headed for the living room. Harley followed on instinct, leaning a hip against the couch as she watched him climb through the open window and onto the fire escape. Once he had disappeared from view, she closed the window and locked it, her will to paint completely drained.

Muttering to herself about what an asshole he was for getting her all worked up and then leaving without even properly saying goodbye, she wandered to the bathroom to get a good look at the damage he had done to her.

When she first looked at her reflection, she couldn’t help laughing. Rouge paint was smeared around her mouth, across her cheek, and down her neck and chest. There were stains of white here and there, in the places his chin and forehead had rested against her skin as he kissed her.

On her neck he had left two bruises right in a row, little marks to remember him by even after she washed his paint off her skin. There was another on her jutting collarbone and a really big one directly between her breasts. He’d done it on purpose, she knew he had. Those hickeys were there to warn any other men that may think about touching her. He’d marked his fucking territory on her skin. There was a strange sense of pride that accompanied to angry bitterness it sparked within her.

She didn’t fucking belong to him, didn’t even know what she was to him. No matter how insistent he was that they were alike, that he was drawn to her from the moment they met, she couldn’t help feeling she was still merely the girl that made his coffee.

Once again he had left her with questions, too many to answer. The hardest being what the hell she was getting herself into with him.

Whatever it was, she felt she was in too deep to back out now.

///

The next morning Harley woke late. It was nearly noon by the time she managed to drag her heavy limbs out of bed and shuffle into the kitchen. Finding a warm pot of coffee there surprised her, as did the fact it was half empty. There was a Joker card sitting on the counter next to it with the word “bitter” scrawled in red ink. When she poured herself a cup and added her cream and sugar, she found that the card was still not wrong.

It never even occurred to her that she should have been bothered by the fact that J had snuck into her apartment that morning and made coffee. She was more concerned about how many scoops of grounds he had used and whether or not she was going to need to buy more. A glance into the coffee canister confirmed her suspicion that he had not only used way too much, but that she was going to need to make a run to the grocery store.

For the first time since he had left her that envelope of money, she took out two crisp hundred-dollar bills and put them in her wallet.

The grocery store run that followed happened with a manic fervor. Actually having money for food in her pocket made her a mad woman and she felt desperate to completely stock her fridge with it. After a month of living almost entirely on leftovers from work, buying fresh food felt like a dream come true. Never in her life had Harley imagined she would actually be excited to buy fresh vegetables, but this run to the store proved it was possible.

A very full cart of groceries later, she hailed a taxi and had to politely ask the driver for help carrying her groceries in. He didn’t seem happy about it, but she gave him an extra twenty for his tip, which seemed to brighten his mood significantly.

It took her nearly a half hour to put everything away, and when she was done she planned something complicated and exciting for dinner. She could not even remember the last time she had cooked a proper meal. Never in this kitchen, that much she was certain of. Seeing as she expected J to come around at some point that evening, it seemed safe to make a big meal that could feed them both. And even if he didn’t show, she would have leftovers tomorrow and that was just as well.

He did show up, of course, long after she had made dinner and savored every bite of it. In fact, she was nearly finished putting the finishing touches on her second painting of the night when there came a knock at the window.

His face was painted again, but this time he was wearing a different suit than she was used to. When she let him inside, he ducked through a window and the bright light of the lamp she was painting by illuminated his bright purple suit.

For a moment she stood, taking him in with a mix of shock and secondhand embarrassment. But the longer she stared, the more she took in the way the suit was tailored just so to fit his thin frame, she began to realize that it actually looked damn good on him.

“What do ya think of the new suit, sweetheart?” He stood up to his full height, cracking his neck in the process.

Silently Harley continued to look him over. Took in every detail from the pinstripes on his purple slacks, to the long gold chain that hung at his waist. She decided she rather liked the green vest and the shirt was not quite as hideous as the one he had been wearing yesterday. At least, not when she looked at the suit as a whole. The individual pieces clashed, but she had a feeling he was doing that on purpose. With an approving nod, she let out a long breath as her eyes moved across the big purple overcoat to the purple gloves on his hands.

“I like it, “ she decided eventually.

Sucking at scars, he raised his eyebrows cynically at her.

“You like it,” he deadpanned.

And then burst into a fit of laughter.

“Oh, Harley, you...You just keep surprising me.” There was a knife in his hand and he shook it at her as though wagging a finger. The gesture didn’t frighten her, necessarily, but she found herself taking a step back.

Not quite sure what he found so funny, turned away from him and settled in front of the painting she’d been working on. “It’s a good suit. Looks good on you. And it…it suits you, I guess.”

Still not quite recovered from his little laughing fit, he shut the window behind him and moved into the living room. The ancient couch accepted his weight with a pathetic squeak and Harley paused in picking up her brush when she noticed he was staring at her.

“What?” she demanded, sounding a bit more agitated than she actually felt.

Clearly surprised he lifted his hands as though surrendering. There was no sign of the knife he had been holding. “Bit testy tonight, aren’t ya?”

It sounded distinctly like he was making fun of her, but she ignored him and picked up her brush again. “There’s leftovers in the fridge, if you’re hungry.”

He wasted no time in getting up and hurrying to the kitchen. Whether it was because Harley was clearly busy or because he was hungry, she couldn't tell. Quite frankly, she didn’t particularly care.

“Finally spent some of that money today, didn’t ya?” There was amusement in his tone and she could have sworn there was a touch of pride there as well. “About time. I was wondering when we’d get proper food around here.”

Despite herself, Harley smiled. “We? What, do you live here now too?”

His head poked around the wall that separated the kitchen from the living room. “I’ve been considering it. You do have a spare room, after all.”

Laughter once again carried through the apartment and she heard him rummage around in the fridge until he found the Tupperware full of chicken and vegetables.

“If this is half as good as it looks, I’m going to be really strongly considering it.” Without even looking up from her canvas, Harley knew he was grinning at her. “I’m not sure what the hell this green stuff is, though. Are you trying to poison me?”

Snorting, Harley shook her head, never looking away from her work. “It’s good for you.”

“It’s rabbit food.”

When she ignored his protest, he resigned himself to warming up the entire plate. The purr of the microwave filled the silence that settled comfortably between them. It felt right, felt normal. Though Harley was still unsure about how she felt about the Joker settling so suddenly and seamlessly into her life, she couldn’t bring herself to feel bothered by it.

Perhaps it was because he did everything with such an air of confidence. Last night when he had snuck in through the window she had wanted to be furious, but then they’d shared coffee and he’d kissed her senseless and never once did she bother to question it after that. Tonight he had helped himself to her leftovers and she had welcomed him to do so. It felt as though he belonged in that apartment with her.

And she knew damn well that he had more than enough to pay their rent.

There was no holding back the laugh that thought caused her. The whole situation was ridiculous. She was probably just trying to justify it to make herself feel better.

He came back into the living room with his food, settling beside her before digging in. By the way he began shoveling food in his mouth, she would have sworn this was his first real meal in months. The feeling was not foreign to her, but it was certainly interesting to see from a spectator’s point of view.

By the time Harley had finished the last few details on her painting, he had not only demolished his plate of leftovers but went to search her kitchen for more. He returned with a handful of pretzels and some cheese.

“Looks good,” he said, nodding toward the painting. “That’s the harbor downtown, isn’t it?”

“Right from where the ferries leave, yeah.” Harley carefully put her brush into a cup of water and turned to face him. “My mom used to take me there when I was a kid.”

With a low approving sound, he leaned a little closer to inspect the detail she had been working on. “You always put the Batman in paintings?”

Furrowing her brow, Harley leaned in to look at the area he was inspecting. “That’s the anchor of the boat, silly.”

“Well, you’ve got the flying rodent’s light on the one over there.” His head indicated the painting she’d caught him scrutinizing the other night. “I just thought maybe you had a soft spot for him.”

Pulling a disgusted face, he turned away from the painting and looked back at her expectantly. It was quite clear that he very much disliked Batman, for whatever reason. Probably because he was afraid Batman would catch him. That thought had not occurred to Harley before. Far too often she forgot what her houseguest was capable of, the stream of crimes that had somehow led him to her, to leaving that money with her and binding the two of them together.

“I don’t…dislike him.” Admitting that felt like some sort of sin. “He saved the narrows over the winter. I can’t hate him for that.”

“He didn’t save the narrows.” Waving a dismissive hand, he leaned to rest his elbows on his knees and began picking at the snack he had snagged from her kitchen.

The pink – or was that red - lining of his coat caught Harley’s eye and she had to bite back a laugh. Only he would purposely buy a coat like that.

“Okay, he didn’t officially save the narrows, but I think his heart is in the right place.” She bit her lip, seeing the disapproval in his eyes at her answer.

Talking around a mouthful of food, he shook his head. “Honey, the mob is more dangerous than ever now.”

“But the better number of small-time criminals seem scared of him.”

“He sure did a good job of stopping that kid that tried to mug you on the way home the other night, didn’t he?” Sarcasm drenched every word and Harley knew that she had lost this argument. “Wait. That was meeee, wasn’t it? Notorious bank robber, but still better at saving baristas than Batman.”

Trying to come up with a good argument, Harley opened and closed her mouth a few times. “But – “

“No buts, Harley, the Bat’s a menace.” He ran an agitated hand through his hair, seeming to catch extra steam as he did so. “His heart may be in the right place, but he goes about it all wrong. The mob needs to be taken down at its heart. He needs to hit them where it hurts.”

“Are you saying that robbing them is the answer?”

Her cynicism was not lost on him and he shook his head insistently. “I never said I was a good guy. If I had my way, we’d burn the whole damn city down and start over.”

Not buying that for a second, Harley held up a hand to stop the flood of words that she could see building in his throat. “That would accomplish nothing. Absolutely nothing. You can’t burn down the whole city and say you’ve solved the problem. Our criminals are motivated by homelessness and oppression. Keeping them homeless and taking away what little they have will not get rid of them, it will only make matters worse for everyone.”

Pulling a face, he seemed to consider her words. “Not literally, sweetheart. Well, okay, maybe a little bit, but mostly metaphorically. See, this city has corruption in its very core. Cops, lawyers, judges, you name it. They’re corrupt, the lot of them.”

“Even Harvey Dent?”

“Harvey Dent.” He practically spat the name. “Is a shithead. These rich political types are all the same. They grow up entitled and they talk pretty and get everyone on their side while living up to none of their promises. Bruce Wayne, for example, has hardly worked a day in his life just because good ol’ mom and dad built the biggest business in Gotham. Entitled fucking rich boy then turns around and throws a hissy fit at his birthday last year, which somehow ends in him burning down the mansion that has been in his family for generations.”

Adjusting in his seat, he caught her eyes and she could see that he was absolutely on fire now. The floodgates had opened and all of his ideas were spilling free through his mouth. “Now, what we really need to do is level the playing field. Bring every single one of them down a notch. People need to see that their established order is a bad joke. People starve on the streets, good people like you that are just trying to get by go hungry and get desperate because the established order doesn’t have room for them. Had that kid in the alley managed to take your purse, you would have been just another statistic.” In a rush he shot forward and gripped her shoulders, his eyes pleading with her to see his side of things. “What if you’d had the money I gave you in your purse and he managed to run away with it? The police wouldn’t have been able to do shit for you. And if they did, if by some miracle they found your purse with the money in it, they would have come after you. Tried to blame you for things that I did. Used you to get to me. Do you see, Harley? Do you see how pointless all of this shit is?”

By the time he was finished, she was practically eating out of the palm of his hand. It made her angry, so fucking angry to think that the system had failed her so. If J hadn’t come along and given her that money she would still be starving, probably homeless.

“So, what are you going to do about it?” Her voice was hardly more than a whisper, her eyes searching his for more of that truth he was preaching to her.

Suddenly she knew how Eve had felt in the Garden of Eden. When the offer to see the true nature of the world was given, she was powerless to say no. And once she had tasted the apple, she found herself only wanting more.

“We burn it, Harley. We break the rules right under their noses, show them that their laws and rules are bullshit. This is a lawless city, Harley. You need to play the game by your own code to survive. It’s the only sensible way.”

Fascinated, she moved closer to him. “And what’s your code?”

“Chaos.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Chaos?”

“Yep. You know why?”

Shaking her head, she narrowed her eyes at him. “I don’t think I follow.”

“Chaos, Harley, chaos is fair. The cards fall and it’s all luck of the draw. Burn the rulebook, throw it away. Play by your own rules. Play by chaos because it’s the only fair thing in this world.”

Though she wasn’t entirely certain she understood his reasoning, suddenly so much about the Joker made sense to her. He was robbing the mob to draw them into the game, but money wasn’t his goal. It never had been, just as she’d suspected.

“You’re planning something, aren’t you?” It seemed obvious, but she had to say it to clear the air.

“I have lots of plans, Harley. For the mob, for Gotham…for us.”

The beating of her heart sped up and stopped and kicked back in just as quickly. “Us?”

Green curls tickled her nose as he leaned toward her. “Of course. You didn’t think I’d let you get caught in the middle of everything when Gotham sees what I have up my sleeve, did you?”

And that was when she realized that whatever he was planning had been a long time coming. Everything was surging forward, a great storm ready to shake the very foundation of Gotham hard enough to break it, and she was sitting directly at the eye of the storm.

Air left her lungs in a shaky cadence. “So, what are you going to do?”

“Well, tomorrow I’m going to show the mob my hand. Word on the street is the police are planning a huge raid to get the mob’s dirty money and finally get some of them behind bars. It won’t work. The mob’s got this accountant named Lau and if my sources are correct, which they are, he’s planning to take that money before the police can get ahold of it, but he’s going under the mob’s nose to do it. He thinks that going back to Hong Kong will save him from Gotham’s law, but with stakes this high the Batman is bound to get involved.”

Pieces fell into place in Harley’s mind and she finished his thought for him. “If Batman gets involved, he’ll bring Lau back here and get him to talk, which means their whole fucking bank account would be compromised.”

The Joker downright beamed at her. “That’s my girl.”

He stood suddenly, pulling off his overcoat and jacket before carefully laying them over the back of the couch. “Fucking hot in here.”

When he settled back beside her, he loosened his tie and rolled up the lavender sleeves of his shirt.

Harley yawned, stretching her arms over her head. Exhaustion had suddenly settled in her limbs and her eyelids felt heavy.

“What time is it?” she asked, massaging the bridge of her nose with thumb and forefinger.

Leaning back, he glanced at the clock in the kitchen. “Little after eleven, I think.”

“Shit, I need to go to bed. I have to work in the morning. Sorry.”

With some effort, she got to her feet and padded across the room toward the hall that led to her bedroom. A glance behind her told her that J had made no attempt to get off the couch.

“What, are you staying here?” It was meant as a joke.

Nodding, he motioned for her to come back to the living room. “I was planning on it. Dinner was even better than it looked.”

She did as he requested, moving back to the couch and standing over him with arms crossed. “You really are just going to make yourself at home here, aren’t you?”

His hand locked around her wrist and he pulled her back down to him. The breath escaped her as she landed on his lap, and he turned her to straddle him with hands on either side of her hips.

“I almost forgot.” His fingers gripped the hem of her shirt and when she made no protest, pulled it over her head. “I wanted to see how much damage I did last night.”

Snorting, she leaned her head to the side to give him a good look at the hickeys he had left on her neck and chest. “I hate to disappoint you, but if you think that you’re going to get to make good on that offer to fuck me senseless, I’m going to have to decline. Tomorrow is my first day of fourteen, and I should get some rest while I have the chance.

An understanding grin lit up his face as he inspected the work he’d done on her. “Can’t fuck you when you’re this tired anyway. Not nearly as fun.”

That made her blush. Sent a little thrill shooting through her at the thought of the first time they would actually get to have each other. It was clear that they were only postponing the inevitable at this point, and Harley waited for the moment with baited breath.

“Maybe we can celebrate tomorrow night if your meeting with the mob goes well.” She pecked him on the cheek and moved to slide off of his lap, only to find that he was holding her tightly in place.

“It’s going to happen eventually.” There was not even a sliver of doubt in his voice. “I’m going to have to have you at least once just to sate this infernal need you’re building in me.”

Her hands gripped his exposed forearms and she rolled her hips against him just once. One long and luxurious motion to give him a taste of what he was in for. When she leaned forward to press her lips to the shell of his ear, she noticed his grip on her had tightened.

“That makes two of us.” It was hardly more than a breath, but she knew he’d heard her.

“Go to bed, Harley, before I change our minds.”

Not needing to be told twice, she crawled off his lap and headed to her bedroom. She shut the door behind her for reasons she didn’t quite understand. Half of her was near desperate for him to follow, but the sensible part of her mind insisted that she needed to sleep.

It didn’t matter either way because he never followed and she never did quite manage to calm the heat burning within her enough to get a proper night’s sleep. There was the temptation to take care of it herself, but she could think of nothing more damning and embarrassing than him hearing her getting herself off.

When she did finally manage to get to sleep, it was far too late in the night and 4AM came too soon. He was still on her couch when she got ready for work, fast asleep and breathing quietly. A blanket that she didn’t remember giving him was covering his bare chest and it took a moment for her to realize he was sleeping mostly naked on her couch still in full face paint. Had she not been afraid of waking him, it would have made her laugh.

Before she left, she wrote him a note of where to find her towels and what time she would be home. These were all things he probably already knew, but she felt the need to remind him. To let him know she was thinking about him. Lately it seemed that was something she couldn’t stop doing.

Work that day seemed to drag by. J never showed, though she had not expected him to. The friendly old man came in briefly, ordered his coffee and looked pointedly at the hickeys on her neck that even cover-up wouldn’t properly hide. He asked her in a light tone if she and the nice young man that had been flirting with her that day had finally gone on a date. Though she knew damn well what he was implying, she nodded and shrugged in response.

“Doing anything exciting today?” she asked brightly as she steamed the milk for his latte.

He gave a casual shrug and spoke in that thick accent that matched her own. “Eh, you know, just got a business meeting.”

“Sounds boring.”

“They usually are, but what can you do, right? That’s business.”

Grinning as though she understood, she nodded and handed him his latte. “Hopefully it isn’t too much of a drag. Have a good day!”

“You too, sweetheart.”

And as he left for his meeting, Harley couldn’t help wondering how J’s meeting would go.

Little did she know, the meeting the old man was heading to just so happened to be the same meeting that the Joker had been preparing for.

And the moment he came in, even with his purple suit and make-up, the old man - Lorenzo Falcone - recognized him. Immediately tied him to the girl at the coffee shop. Harleen, that was her name according to the nametag she wore.

Suddenly things began falling into place in his mind, synapses started to connect and he knew that if things went downhill and this crazy son of a bitch did something wrong, they had a place to hit him. A place that would undoubtedly hurt.

The meeting did not go well, not at all. Not for any of them. The Joker had been passed off as just that, and had only escaped with his life because he had threatened them. Never a smart move when dealing with the mob.

Discussion about whether or not to go after Lau started up and Lorenzo adjusted in his seat, not able to shake the curiosity as to whether or not the girl at the coffees shop realized exactly what kind of man she was dating. After a stunt like he had pulled with those grenades – hell just the way he had waltzed in today like he owned the place – it was clear that he had more than a screw loose.

But who could date a man like that and not know? And why did he care anyway? The mob had been threatened by the scarred freak in the purple suit and Lorenzo knew exactly how to respond to that threat.

The meeting was starting to adjourn, some talk of getting a bite to eat filling the air. Beside Lorenzo, Gambol was nearly shaking with rage. The young man was always quick with his temper.

“Does that motherfucker really think he can just come in here and-?” But Lorenzo cut off the potential tirade with a warm hand on his shoulder.

“Calm down, son, there is a way we deal with men like him.” Lorenzo’s voice was soft, quiet enough that Salvatore Maroni could not hear him across the table.

Still looking furious, Gambol looked up at him. “What the hell are you on about, old man? I already put a bounty out for him.”

Lorenzo shook his head. “No, no. See, you get him killed, you kill him yourself, he doesn't really suffer. You have to hit him where it hurts. His heart.”

Sucking on his teeth, Gambol shook his head. “I doubt that freak has a heart.”

If Lorenzo had learned one thing in this business, it was how to play people into his hand. He knew the strings to pull, the cards to play, and exactly what it took for some men to want revenge. The man beside him was a simple crime lord, more worried about money and status than the way things were properly done. Lorenzo liked that about him.

Shaking his head, Lorenzo leaned close to him with a conspiratorial grin. “Oh, but he does, and I know just how to get to it. There is a girl.”

This clearly impressed his colleague. Gambol’s face lit up like he had just been given the best Christmas present six months early.

“You have my attention.”


	4. Parabol/Parabola

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harley has an unfortunate run-in with Victor Zsasz and everything changes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note: This chapter is where that Graphic Violence tag comes in. We get some nasty body horror here, so please be careful if that grosses you out. I'll leave notes on what happens in this chapter at the beginning of the next one.

“This body holding me reminds me of my own mortality  
Embrace this moment, remember  
We are eternal  
All this pain is an illusion”

~Tool “Parabola”

///

“Hey, you mind staying late tonight?”

Annika sounded a little ashamed to ask, but Harley just shrugged and nodded.

“Do I ever mind?” she asked as she emptied coffee grounds into the trash.

Judging by the smirk Ann was giving her, there were definitely ulterior motives to asking. Pretending not to notice, Harley started to grind fresh beans for coffee, feeling Ann’s eyes on her the whole time.

“Well, usually no.” The amusement in Ann’s voice gave away what she was hinting at and Harley tried not to blush. “But then you came in this morning with two giant fucking hickeys on your neck and I thought you might have another hot date tonight.”

There it was.

With an absolutely wicked grin, Harley shrugged and started the next pot of coffee brewing.

“I probably do.” Her face felt hot and she knew she was blushing furiously. “But he…works a lot. We usually don’t get together until late.”

Ann snorted. “Looks like you had a late night.”

“Those are from two days ago.”

That had Ann laughing, nearly doubled over with her hands against the counter. “Harleen, you naughty girl.” 

Giving her a playful nudge, Harley leaned the small of her back on the counter next to Ann. “Don’t give me that.”

“I’ll give you all the shit I want. You didn’t even tell me you were seeing someone!”

There was a twinge of guilt in Harley’s gut. Ann was right, she hadn’t even mentioned Jack before. Not even when he was just a regular that Harley was quickly gaining interest in. She’d not so much as mentioned her building crush until suddenly he had slipped so completely into her life that he was giving her hickeys to remember him by.

Frowning, Harley crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s all moved really fast, to be honest.”

That made Ann’s brow furrow and the concern was easy to read. “What do you mean?”

Unable to find the right words, Harley tilted her head from side to side in search of them. “He’s a regular. Been coming in while you’re at the bank as he’s on his way to work. The other night I went to the bar and he was there. I brought him back to my place and he’s just sort of become a fixture.”

It sounded absurd and she couldn’t keep herself from laughing. There was no making sense of the situation and every time she tried it just sounded less sane than the last. There was no explaining J, or the way she felt about him. It was just an odd sort of attachment that she couldn’t quite shake.

“A fixture? What, like he moved in with you?” Ann sounded as dumbfounded as Harley felt.

Pulling a face, Harley shook her head. “No, he didn’t move in with me. I haven’t even slept with him yet.”

“Those marks on your neck call bullshit.”

Teeth tugging at her bottom lip, Harley waved away the remark.

“Seriously.” She almost laughed at how absurd her next statement was going to sound. “Usually we just sit and talk.”

“Bullshit.”

Harley bowed her head and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “It was a heated talk.”

“Heated looks like a word for it.”

Laughter filled the room as the two of them leaned against the counter and cackled at the whole situation. It made Harley incredibly thankful that there were no customers around. These were her favorite moments, the times when she was reminded just why she had remained at the coffee shop rather than looking for better paying work elsewhere. This place was safe, this place was home. Annika was her best friend in the world, and working together brought them closer by the day.

“Still didn’t happen,” Harley said as their laughter died down. “But, hey, there’s always tonight.”

That sent Ann into another fit of giggles, her eyes watering as she fought her diaphragm for air. “I’m about to tell Kristin to close by herself tonight just so you can get laid.”

Harley hardly managed to sound cynical, and her face wouldn’t cooperate when she tried to do anything other than smile. “I’m sure that will go over well.”

Suddenly serious, Annika raised a sardonic eyebrow. “We’re gonna tell her you have a medical emergency, girl. Gotta go visit Doctor Love.”

She gave a suggestive roll of her hips just to drive the point home and Harley nearly lost it all over again.

“I fucking hate you. Don’t be gross, Ann.”

“You’re going to hate me even more when I tell you we can’t actually do that and you’re stuck here.”

Doing her best to look mischievous, Harley started toward the back room to retrieve milk from the cooler. “Doesn’t matter. If I get too desperate I’ll just get him to meet me in the back room.”

“I would fire you so hard,” Ann threatened, but Harley could hear the giggles she was keeping at bay.

After retrieving a few gallons of milk from the back cooler, Harley came back to the front room and began filling the refrigerator under the counter.

“If it makes you feel better, I can’t call him anyway.” It felt hard to admit that. Before that moment, it hadn’t occurred to Harley to ever even ask for his number. Something about it seemed strange, maybe forbidden for fear of someone tracking him through her phone.

“Your phone die again?” Ann asked.

“Nah.” The shrug she gave didn’t look nearly as casual as she had hoped. “I just haven’t asked for his number yet.”

Suddenly her friend was looking at her very seriously, bordering on angry. “Wait, this guy you may or may not be sleeping didn’t even have the decency to give you his number?”

“I never asked for it.”

“Harley, this guy could just waltz out of your life at any moment. He could decide tonight that he never wanted to see you again and you would have no way of finding out why.”

The situation being put so frankly made Harley feel frigid. Implications were endless, the reality feeling even crueler than she had ever imagined. It had never once occurred to her that J could just up and leave, not with the way he talked. The way he made her feel like the most special creature on the planet. She was on his level, they were the same… He could drop out of her life on a whim and she would be powerless to stop him.

Sharp pain lit up her insides, a pang so strong it had her stomach rolling as though she would be sick.

“He wouldn’t.” The words were barely more than a breath.

Eyes growing wide, Ann shook her head emphatically. “No, sweetie, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. He wouldn’t. I’m sure he wouldn’t. Nobody leaves hickeys like that and disappears.”

It was supposed to be a joke, but Harley could hardly smile.

Because he could. He absolutely could. This was a man that had admitted that he never felt things for anyone. Everything about him screamed sociopath when she scrutinized his behavior like he was a subject in one of her textbooks, but she never dwelled on it because she was too certain of what they had. Couldn’t bring herself to imagine him spinning lies at her or manipulating her.

She could hear her mother’s voice in her head, plain as the day her father had left.

“People who are being manipulated rarely realize what’s going on until it’s too late.”

What if she had been the idiot? What if she had let her guard down, opened up to this man, and he was planning on just disappearing without a trace? Spoke pretty words and played her right into his palm, only to get what he wanted from her and leave just as quickly.

Her face fell and stuck that way, despite Annika’s best efforts to cheer her up. There would be no cheering her up until she got home tonight and found him there. If he showed up.

In a way she was grateful for the reality check. Better to have a good time with him and accept that he could leave without a trace than to have gotten too attached. No matter how well he fit into her life, his presence was not guaranteed and probably wasn’t permanent. Just last night he had admitted to having plans for Gotham, big plans that would likely create the anarchy and chaos he’d preached to her as gospel. The odds of him having time for Harley or their little coffee chats seemed incredibly slim. Best to accept that now so that it would hurt less when the time came.

No matter how hard she tried to tell herself that detachment was best, it still left her feeling numb to the world. The very idea of his absence left her hollow.

When she came home that night, she felt absolutely spent. Her heart hurt, her feet sore from spending nearly twelve hours on them. Every fiber of her being felt stretched then and she wanted nothing more than to lie in bed and let the emptiness of a bad joke consume her until she drifted into unconsciousness.

And then she opened the door and was greeted by the familiar screech of the teakettle. Relief washed over her instantly, her heart picking up speed as she kicked off her shoes and practically ran into the kitchen.

“Oh my god, J, I have had the worst day.” She dropped her purse on the counter and realized quite suddenly that he was not in the kitchen.

Frowning, she turned off the stove and moved the kettle onto a different burner to quiet it. The French Press was on the counter, but it had yet to be filled with coffee. He had probably been waiting for her to do it for him so that he could once again tell her that she made the best coffee he’d ever had.

That thought alone was enough to make her smile, the day’s woes forgotten as she was returned to the warm familiarity of the nights they spent together. She looked forward to the coffee they would share, the way he would kiss her too hard, and the way his eyes would light up as he told her about whatever it was he had done with the mob.

She took in a long breath, let it fill her lungs completely, and then let it out in an even gust.

It was okay. She was home, and he was too.

Somewhere.

A sudden jolt of uncertainty filled her as she realized he had never greeted her. He should have been in the kitchen now, should have been whining at her to make the coffee right and ask if she had any food for him.

Which reminded her that she had brought home muffins from work. Those blueberry ones that he had been so fond of.

“J?” Tension gathered in the back of her neck. “I brought home food.”

Wiping sweaty palms on her jeans, she turned to the cutlery drawer and pulled out the sharpest knife she could find.

“Listen, motherfucker, I know you’re here somewhere.” The shaking over her voice betrayed her building fear.

Suddenly there were arms around her waist and she let out a shriek, dropping her knife in the process. It clattered to the ground, the tinkling of metal on tile mixing with the shrill laugh she let out.

“Christ, J, it’s like you’re trying to make a game of scaring me half to death.”

“Only half?”

That wasn’t J’s voice. It was too even, too emotionless. Even when he did that weird thing where he dropped his voice to octaves he had no right reaching, it always had a lilt to it.

Breathing felt physically painful and Harley looked down to see the arms of an expensive black suit coat wrapped around her middle.

Definitely not the Joker.

The growl she let out came from somewhere deep within her. It was wild and feral, downright dangerous. Her limbs flailed, elbows aimed upward at the head of the man holding her. Her screams filled the kitchen and a hand was quickly slapped over her mouth to dampen them.

Those arms around her hauled her up bodily, her feet slipping away from the tile as she was hauled in the direction of the living room. Twisting this way and that, she tried and failed to aim a good kick at the knees of the man carrying her.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to kill you. Not yet, anyway.”

For just a moment Harley’s body stilled. “What?” 

The man holding her sighed in exasperation, still dragging her toward the living room. “Lorenzo Falcone paid extra to make sure you got a little present first.”

Harley’s mind reeled. Lorenzo Falcone? Who the hell was that? And what the hell did this guy mean he was giving her something extra?

Dread filled her, turning all her muscles heavy and cold. What if he was going to rape her before he murdered her? It took two good breaths for her to get over that thought, a third to bring them past the stove, and a fourth for her mind to start working out a plan of self defense.

As soon as that kettle was in sight, she lashed out. With a few violent twists and desperate clawing at the man’s exposed hands, she managed to get free long enough to grab the kettle. In one fluid motion she took hold of the still-hot handle and swung it around, narrowly missing her attacker. Her heart sunk, but she tried again. Steaming water came streaming out of the spout and made a diagonal stain across the chest of his suit.

He didn’t even flinch.

In two steps he was back across the room, deftly avoiding the kettle she swung at him as he grabbed a handful of her hair and pushed her downward. All of her breath came out in a rush as he rammed her body against the counter top. There was a crack and fireworks exploded behind her eyes as her head followed. The world went black, fuzzy, and then her stomach turned and she swore she was going to vomit.

A loud clang told her the kettle had fallen out of her hand and she could hear the water gushing from the spout and onto the floor. It hardly registered in her thoughts. Her mind had become an hourglass, too full of sand that didn’t have enough room to pour through. Small things were understood, the pain in her head consuming most of her thoughts.

The hand in her hair pulled backward and she was forced back onto her heels. Her feet desperately searched for traction she never found as she was pulled through the scalding water toward the living room. The pads of her bare feet slipped and she screamed as it soaked the calves of her pants and clung to her skin.

Never once did he stop pulling her. Not until they were in the living room, where he dropped her onto the floor. The back of her head bounced off the carpet and she groaned at the way it made the throbbing in her head worse.

In seconds he was straddling her, positioning her wrists under his knees to keep them immobile and settling his weight just below her diaphragm. When she tried to draw breath it made her chest ache and she realized he had done this on purpose. She concentrated on breathing slowly in and out, trying to draw as much oxygen as she could to keep her mind working.

“Harleen, isn’t it?”

He was smiling at her and his face was almost kind. Except his eyes. His eyes held nothing. No black holes, no galaxies igniting and burning, just void.

This was the first good look she had managed of him, and she was completely taken aback by how calm he seemed. His face, completely void of any hair, was almost kind. Hell, he was smiling at her. Looking in that face, she could hardly breathe, let alone scream for help.

“What…what do you want with me?” she finally managed in a desperate whisper. If she tried to speak any louder she was going to cry, and she refused to seem so frightened.

That smile only spread, making his face seem almost innocent. “Well, let me introduce myself first. My name is Victor Zsasz. I’ve been taking care of the Falcone family’s dirty for quite a while now.” He took a breath, his eyes glancing up to the ceiling and back down to Harley. It was casual, so casual. He was giving her a fucking Bond Villain speech and she had no idea why he was even there.

Sitting up a little straighter, he reached into his coat and pulled out a switchblade. It shot open with a flick of his wrist and he took her face in his free hand, moving it side to side.

“Your boyfriend managed to make my employer very, very angry today, Harleen.” Pursing his lips, he tilted her head to the side once more and continued to stare at her like an artist ready to start a masterpiece. “He and Mister Gambol have asked me to pay you a special visit so that we can send a message that the Falcone family is not to be crossed. Especially not by clowns.”

He swooped down like a hawk on prey, forcing her mouth open as he turned her head to a painful angle. That knife was pressed against the corner of her mouth and suddenly everything fell into place. The meeting J had with the mob hadn’t gone well, and rather than trying to hunt him down they had gone for the easier target. She would be used as bait.

And now she and J really were going to match.

Eyes wide, she glanced down at the blade and then back up at Zsasz. The slightest pressure of that impossibly sharp blade on her skin had her breath catching. He pressed harder and she squeezed her eyes shut against the sting of tears. And then…

Agony.

For the first few moments of tissue tearing she screamed. Screamed until her mouth filled with the taste of copper and her tongue was coated in hot liquid. Blood. Fuck, that was her blood. And it just kept pouring into her mouth as he cut. The cold steel severed skin and muscle and snapped nerve endings that cried out in protest.

When she tried to scream again, it was wet. More of a gurgle than a sob and she felt herself drool blood onto the floor. Her legs kicked and twitched and the man above her continued to smile.

He was enjoying this.

Somehow that made it worse.

The blade curved upward and she could feel it slice a perfect curve past her gums. She feared he would continue cutting. Scrape bone and leave her face gaping. Every muscle tensed as she prepared for more.

And then he stopped.

Pulled the blade out of her mouth completely and stared down at his work. “Beautiful.”

The atoms of the air stood still, disturbed by the uneven sobs Harley could not manage silence.

This was it. She was going to die here. This man was going to carve her face into a smile to match the Joker’s and then he was going to kill her. All that would be left for J to find, if he ever came back, would be her mutilated corpse.

Part of her wondered if he would be sad, if he would seek revenge. Honor her memory with a blaze of glory and a trail of dead bodies. She really fucking hoped so.

Zsasz cleared his throat before turning her head to face the opposite direction. “Alright, princess, other side.”

Again that knife was fit into the crook of her mouth and she took in a ragged breath, preparing herself for the pain. Her hands balled into fists beneath his legs and she felt the familiar prick of pins and needles from the lack of circulation.

The tip of the blade tugged at the crook of her mouth and she felt the tears welling in her eyes spill over onto her cheeks.

“No.” It left her lips reverently as a prayer, but made no difference.

That building of pressure was almost familiar and she savored the few blessed seconds of having her cheek whole for the last time.

Then he was slicing through the meat of her face, a deft process that seemed easy enough to do with a carefully calculated pull of his wrist. She felt it, though, every bit of it. Each hesitation, the smooth push through skin and muscle while white-hot pain seared along the line he drew.

Blood coated her teeth, her tongue, and collected in a pool on the carpet. There was so much of it. She wondered what bleeding out looked like, if she was on her way there already.

He hit a particularly thick piece of muscle and the flick of his wrist had her screaming so loud he actually paused.

And that pause was all it took for them both to hear it. The echo of footsteps coming up the fire escape. A glance was exchanged between the two of them before everything set into sudden, furious motion.

Harley screamed, loud and brutal enough to make her throat ache, before giving one good kick and a twist of her body. When her knee managed to connect with his back, he pulled the knife back as he flailed to keep his balance. Twisting like a crocodile, Harley shot her head upward and connected her forehead with his nose.

The knife fell close enough to her hand that she could coax the hilt close to her. In a fit of desperation, she got the best grip she could and pushed with all her might to stab him in the calf. He gave no dramatic howl of pain, no backward flail to let her free.

Instead, he hauled back and backhanded her hard. “You little bitch!”

Wrenching the knife out of his calf, he got to his feet and dragged Harley up by the hair. She was still screaming, though it was laced with threats and profanities now. If she could speak, he hadn’t entirely severed the muscle, which gave her a small blooming feeling of hope.

After being denied circulation for so long her hands felt worthless. They hardly even gripped properly at the hand he had in her hair. The fight in her was strong, though, and she refused to let him kill her like this. Especially knowing that someone had heard her, someone was trying to get up here and help her.

Those footsteps were getting closer and panic was beginning to creep into the void that was Zsasz’s eyes. Her feet kicked wildly at him and, by some miracle, she landed a shot right to his groin. His face contorted and his grip loosened just enough for Harley to break free, her legs carrying her unsteadily back to the kitchen.

The water on the floor was getting cold now and she did her best not to slip in it. With some effort, she managed to get to her purse and began digging furiously. There was mace in here somewhere. That would put him out long enough for…

Her fingers brushed against something heavy and cold. Something she had managed to forget about the past few days. Perhaps not forgotten so much as casual put out of her mind. She knew damn well it was there, but something about its presence made her feel significantly safer on her walks home.

Pulling out the small handgun, she flicked the safety off just in time for a strong hand to grasp her shoulder and spin her around. Shutting her eyes tightly, she pulled the trigger and knew by the growl that filled her ears that she had hit her target.

When she opened an eye, she was disappointed to find he was not dead. However, blood was beginning to stain the arm of his coat and it gave her an odd sense of pride to have hit her target. It wouldn’t slow him down there, would hardly even give him pause. The only way to truly stop him was to have him dead.

Desperately she tried to line up another shot, but his boot collided with her chest hard enough to take her off her feet as she collided with the counter.

She gasped on impact and immediately felt her lungs fill with blood. Her airway constricted and she fell to the floor choking for breath. With each inhale came more blood and she could not cough hard enough to make it stop. It hurt, everything hurt. Her face, her chest, her throat, it was all betraying her.

The front door slammed and she knew her attacker was gone. Apparently that bullet in his arm had been enough to scare him away. Either that or the footsteps on the fire escape. Harley preferred to give herself the credit.

Again she inhaled and her mouth filled with blood. She coughed and this time it made her gag. Blood and mucus were spat on the floor as her stomach heaved. More blood, this time mixed with bile that made the cuts on her face burn on contact.

She needed…needed to wash it out. Maybe if she could get some water…

When she tried to move her legs protested and her head spun. The weight became too much and she collapsed back onto her knees before falling face first on the tile. Cool ceramic made the hot pain in her face subside and she rested the more violently cut cheek on the floor.

Footsteps echoed along the floorboards in her direction from the living room. They were quick, determined. His.

She’d never seen him move that fast in her life. Scuffed brown shoes and purple slacks moved into her line of sight. Her vision was blurry but she tried to get a look at his face. He was standing above her, hands curling into fists and relaxing just as quickly.

“Nononononononono. HarleyHarleyHarley. Fuck.”

Just the low cadence of his voice, the worry she could hear there, was enough to make her start crying all over again. Her body felt heavy, too heavy to move, so she just lay there and felt the mix of tears and blood drain onto the floor.

Reaching out a shaking hand, she managed to grip his pantleg and pulled herself closer to him.

Immediately the muttering stopped and he looked down at her, clearly confused. “What are you doing, sweetheart?”

“I’m scared,” she tried to reply, but it came out garbled. Her mouth wasn’t cooperating, the torn muscles crying out in protest as she tried to move them. It just made her cry harder.

His leg shook to try to break her grip and she let out a howl of protest. Immediately the movement stopped and he heaved a sigh. She watched the hem of his coat sway as he searched in his pocket for something, which he then held out in front of him and began to poke at.

A phone.

Whoever he was calling answered almost immediately.

“I need a car and a medic at the apartments on Ledger and 60th.” His voice was low, urgent, almost a growl. “Make it snappy. Shots were fired and I don’t want to take any risks.”

There was a pause as the voice on the other end of the line asked a question that had J snarling in frustration. “This is a matter of life and death. I reeaalllyyy need you to make it fast.”

Another pause that had his lips peeling back from his teeth. When he spoke, his voice hardly sounded human. Just a guttural snarl that had him practically spitting at the phone as he held it away from his face. “Get. Here. Now.”

The phone snapped closed in his hand and he stood there a moment, chest rising and falling in angry breaths.

And then his attention snapped to Harley.

There were storms raging in the black holes tonight, electric and dangerous. He didn’t say a word as he knelt beside her on one knee, picked her up with strength she didn’t realize he had and rested her head on his lap. It was a careful process, reverent almost. Every touch was done smooth and sparingly to keep from hurting her.

Once he had her in his lap, he rolled her over so that her forehead rested against his thigh. The position felt awkward, but she realized quickly that it made spitting blood easier and kept the wounds from bleeding directly into her mouth. Instead she could watch a steady stream of blood and saliva drip onto the floor.

“Gotta get those covered,” he said, more to himself than to her. His hand smoothed her hair gently before he brought his face down closer to her level. “Can you sit?”

The muscles in Harley’s neck felt stiff and twitchy as she nodded.

“Good. You’re gonna sit against the cupboard here, but keep your head down. Can’t have you choking on blood. Again.” He shot a disgusted look at the puddle a few feet behind them. “We’re gonna get your face cleaned up so the doctor can stitch you up as soon as he gets here.”

Another nod against his leg.

Strong hands gripped her sides and he helped her sit back. The movement made her dizzy, the whole room dipping and swirling around her. When she started to lean too far to one side he pushed her back up and positioned her like a doll. Feet on the floor, knees bent, elbows on knees, forehead in hands.

“Don’t move.” He patted the top of her head as he rose to his feet.

“Okay.” The effort exerted by her jaw muscle made her entire face ache.

For a moment he paused, glancing at her over his shoulder. She didn’t meet his eyes, could hardly lift her head without getting woozy. But she could feel him staring at her, knew that he was taking note of her every sound and movement.

When he moved again, she watched the flair of his coat as he stalked over to the drawer that she kept her kitchen towels in. It gave her a pang of longing as she noticed the way he went through her kitchen as though it were his own. Oh, how she wanted it to be. Wanted him to continue to be a seamless part of her life, to be that little sliver of light at the end of her days.

Things weren’t supposed to happen this way. She’d had plans for the night. Dinner and awkwardly asking for his phone number and conversations about the moral degradation of society and maybe, just maybe, finally giving in to those carnal desires he built in her.

Instead they were here. The tap was running and she assumed he was wetting one of her kitchen towels. His voice carried across the room and she closed her eyes to concentrate on what he was saying. Half of it didn’t sound like real words, but she knew what he was doing. Knew that he was working this out in his mind, calculating and strategizing to figure out how best to deal with her wounds. How to keep her safe.

“Water?” The word came out almost clear and Harley was proud of that. “Mouth tastes…”

Finishing the sentence was too difficult and she spat on the floor. Even trying to move her mouth made it bleed worse, she realized. Common sense, really, but her mind seemed to be moving too slow to properly realize this. Arriving at conclusion came slowly, like moving through sand.

It wasn't until there was blood openly seeping onto her top that she realized it had gotten worse.

“Don't talk, sweetheart, you’ll make it worse.”

He kneeled down beside her, a damp cloth in hand.

Her eyes searched for a glass of water that didn’t appear to be there. “Water?”

“Shshshsh. Soon as we get this cleaned up. I gotta see the damage first.”

That cloth returned to her line of vision and she immediately tensed. His hand caught the back of her neck as soon as he noticed her hesitance and coaxed her head up by lightly tugging on her hair.

“Is it gonna hurt?” She wasn’t certain she was ready for more pain.

“Like hell.” It was a matter of fact statement. He didn’t even smile. “But that’s okay. Lets us know you’re alive.”

Harley tensed immediately and felt the heat of the damp cloth near her skin. He pressed it against her cheekbone and drew the cloth downwards to trace the curve of the cut. The gentleness of his touch surprised her. Firm enough to clear away the blood, but from the light flick of his wrist it was clear he was trying to make this as painless as possible. That didn’t stop it from stinging, though. Nothing could.

The slightest touch felt as though her skin was being torn away completely. When his hand got heavy and the scrubbing became insistent, she made a noise of protest and tried to throw him off.

“Ah-tata. We aren’t done yet.” There was no doubting he was annoyed with her, but she couldn’t be bothered to care through the pain.

“You’re hurting me!” It came out slurred, but her tone conveyed the point.

Rolling his eyes, he went back to clearing away the blood with a gentler touch.

“You want the good news first?” His mouth teased a grin that never properly spread there.

Furrowing her brow, Harley nodded. “Good news?”

“Don’t talk, Harley”

“You keep asking…” Her face contorted in pain and she shook her head. With the old blood gone, Harley started to feel where her face was split. The sides of her top lip sagged slightly over her bottom lip, and when she spoke she could feel how unnaturally they bumped together. What surprised her most was that the sensation was not even throughout the cut. Though her lips felt too loose, her cheeks still seemed to be holding together by a thread.

The cloth swiped the crook of her mouth, the place where her face felt unnaturally loose. Wincing, she tried to pull her face away.

“Hey!” The word was ground out against his teeth “Stay still.”

A little sound of protest crawled up her throat and he frowned. His hand came back up and she moved her head away again. Growling, he pulled her toward him.

“I know it hurts.” Patience in his tone was severely lacking. “Don’t think for a second that I don’t remember.” His mouth twitched and she could have sworn he looked sad. “But I also know how this goes. You keep trying to fight me like I’m gonna hurt you worse and I’m not. I’m really not.”

Hardly hearing what he was saying, she closed her eyes and let the vibrations in the air sweep over her. Brought her hands up to grip his forearms as he spoke and let his voice calm the pounding of her heart.

Consciousness started to slip then, in those floating seconds where his voice was still ebbing at her eardrums like waves on sand. She could slip away there, get picked up by the tide and float off to see. Her limbs were so heavy and she wanted nothing more than to sleep. Just for a minute. Just while he cleaned her up.

“Look at me, Harley.”

Blinking slowly, she glanced up at him. Used her remaining strength to pull her body close to him and closer her eyes again. His familiar warmth made her feel safe, so safe. The pain was less noticeable when she was close to him. Close and warm and safe and so, so sleepy.

Her forehead bumped his shoulder as the room blurred around her and her body began to relax.

“HEY!” The word was shouted into her ear and she came back to herself with a start. “Don’t do that.”

A sigh of frustration left her lips as he pushed her back and began working the other side of her face.

Silence followed. No muttering, no reassuring words, just their mixed breathing and the muted scrape of fabric against skin. His eyebrows knitted together as he worked, his mouth moving soundlessly as he examined her wounds.

That scared her. Seeing genuine concern on his face was more than a little frightening. The way his eyes narrowed and the lines in his face became more apparent under his makeup. He clicked his tongue, but still did not speak. And somehow it was the deafening absence of his voice that made this truly unbearable.

“Talk.” She met his eyes sheepishly.

Confusion mixed with that concern, but still he didn’t speak. Annoyed, she shook his arms.

“Talk.” It was more insistent this time. “Let me know…” Her face contorted, more frustrated than pained. Speaking was a chore, the muscles in her face unwilling to follow her direction. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“I’m not going to lie to you, doll.” He licked his lips and moved the cloth down the smaller wound. “He did a number on you. This is gonna scar and there ain’t a damn thing we can do about that.”

Her eyes fell on his scars. Traced them from one cheek to the other and felt her insides turn anxiously. It wasn’t the scars she was afraid of, not really. Her face had never been particularly remarkable, in her opinion. Too childish, a little too round. It made her look significantly younger than she actually was.

Scars were nothing, scars were there to build character. Her mother had always called them nature’s tattoos. Harley liked scars.

What she didn’t like was the way her head was swimming. Or the blood that she could feel coating her skin in the wake of the cloth he was cleaning her with. The way her skin was starting to feel clammy and her mouth refused to cooperate long enough for her to voice any of this. She didn’t give a shit about scars so long as she knew she was going to live long enough to see them.

A shaking hand tapped his cheek and her eyes refused to let his go. “Am I dying?”

Immediately he shook his head. “Ambulance is on its way. We’ll get you fixed up in no time.”

“Promise?” Her voice shook with the question, tears chasing blood down her cheeks.

His face went grim, but he nodded with determination. “You have my word.”

Without hesitation she trusted him. Believed every word. Knowing that he believed she would stay alive meant that she would. There was not a doubt in her mind that he would move heaven and earth to save her. Or burn them both down in the process.

“How does it look?” she asked after some debate. She wasn’t certain she wanted the answer, but thought it best to prepare herself for the worst.

He took another long swipe down each side and studied them both carefully. “Well, the fact you are talking means he didn’t completely sever the muscles completely. So there’s that. From the way you’re slurring your words, though…I’m afraid he did manage to mangle something in there. But you’ve said that it hurts, so I’m assuming the nerve endings are still mostly functional.” His brow knit together and he tilted his head while studying her. “And you’re still gorgeous.”

She rolled her eyes at that, very much doubting he meant it. There was no way he could mean it with how covered in blood and other bodily fluid she was. She appreciated the gesture, though. That little attempt to boost her self-confidence, even if it was just pretty words.

Mindlessly she traced a thumb over the scar on his right cheek, reminded herself that he had scars too. That at some point in his past someone had done to him exactly what they had done to her. It made her curious and she leaned up near his ear.

“How?” Forming the word strained her face too hard and she hissed at the sensation of flesh tearing further.

She sat back in a rush, drawing in quick breaths as her eyes watered.

“Fuck, Harley.” The cloth, now almost completely crimson, was pressed against her cheek. Pressure to keep the wound from bleeding harder. “If I tell you, will you pleeeaase stop talking. You’re making it worse.”

Harley nodded in agreement, which drew a heavy breath from him.

“Fine.” Clearly he was unhappy about this request, his eyes betraying what she could have sworn was discomfort.

Groaning, he got to his feet and went over to the sink. The cloth was soaked in more warm water and he rang it out before coming back over to her.

“Can you bring water?” Her mouth still tasted like pennies and vomit.

“Are you going to shut up if I do?”

“Mmhmm.”

She looked up at him expectantly and he rolled his eyes. A glass of water was handed to her and she immediately took a drink, doing her best to swish it around in her mouth, She could feel some of it drain out of her slack lips. Grimacing, she spit the rest onto the floor beside her.

J wrinkled his nose at the red-brown liquid. The now-clean cloth was placed on either side of her mouth and held his hands on it firmly. 

“You need pressure on the wound.” He sounded distracted, his eyes rolling this way and that as he spoke.

Again he slipped into silence and Harley narrowed her eyes at him.

“You know, I’ve never told the same version of it twice.” Frowning, he moved the cloth and then put it back just as quickly. “Usually I make something up. Try to tell people what I think they want to hear.”

Harley tilted her head down and glared up at him.

“Don’t worry, I’ll tell you the truth.” Blowing out a breath, he looked up at the ceiling and then back at her. “I don’t like it.”

The lines in his face deepened and she watched the way his eyes moved about the room. “I was a soldier.”

Uncertain if she believed that, Harley furrowed her eyebrows. Her hands went to his wrists and held them tightly. The contact seemed to ground both of them and suddenly his eyes snapped back to her.

“We were special ops. Off the grid, super secret.” His fingers twitched on her face and she winced when he bumped a particularly tender spot. “We were untraceable. All dangerous missions and dirty work. They’d send us in, we’d do the mission, and then they’d ship us off to the next job. Pretty good gig for an orphan with no regard for personal safety.” Licking his lips, he scanned her face. “One day we were captured. The jeep was blown up, those of us left alive were taken prisoner. In the first forty-eight hours they killed three of us. Me and one other guy were left. The medic of all people.” He scoffed at that – or was it a laugh? – and started cleaning her face again.

“They kept trying to get a ransom for us. I don’t know who they were calling or what they were doing, but it wasn’t working. No one came. No one batted a fucking eye. So they came at me one day, beat me pretty good and demanded to know who we worked for. Obviously special ops is pretty good at keeping their operations hush hush, we were trained to not say a goddamn word. They tried everything, and I didn’t tell ‘em a thing. Not a thing. Kept making jokes to try to keep myself sane. They didn’t like that. Not. One. Bit.”

It was clear he was getting into the story, his face animated as ever. He shuddered after that last comment, pressing his forehead against hers. On instinct her eyes shut and she absorbed his warmth.

“Don’t shut your eyes, doll, we aren’t even at the good part yet.”

She was tempted to say that she was just listening with her eyes closed, but remembered she had promised to stay quiet. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes and stared up at him. Pulling his head back slightly, he went on.

“As you can imagine, they decided to keep me smiling. Carved me from mouth to ear on this side.” He turned his head to show off his right side. “And on this side they started stabbed right through my cheek. Pulled it back and started again.” Drawing in a long, ragged breath, he closed his eyes. “And that was when I killed them. Every. Single. One of them.”

The breath Harley drew in was slow and shaking. It made sense, so much about him made sense now. Tactical thinking, natural leadership skills, and his warped sense of thinking about the world. Of course he was jaded, somewhere along the way the society he had nearly given his life for had betrayed him.

“Did the other guy live?” she asked.

The Joker scoffed. “What did we say about talking, Harley?”

“Please?”

Clicking his tongue, the Joker shook his head. “I’ve gotta keep some air of mystery, sweetheart.”

There came a knock on the door, quick and insistent. “Maintenance.”

“About damn time.”


	5. In The Flicker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet the Joker's right hand man and Harley gets stitches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary of last chapter for those with weak stomachs: Harley came home from work to find Victor Zsasz in her apartment. She learns Zsasz was hired by the mob to kill her to teach J a lesson. Zsasz cuts Harley's face open, but gets scared off before he can finish the job. J finds Harley bleeding out in her kitchen and makes a call to save her, agreeing to tell her the story of how he got his scars if she is cooperative.

"I danced to the here and the now  
I danced to the bullets against the ground  
We live in the flicker tonight  
We chase the waves of dawn til we die."

~Sundowner "In The Flicker"

///

He had made a mistake.

That much he realized as Zak and one of his other hired hands came rushing into the apartment. Harley was still sitting against the counter, holding that bloodstained rag against her gaping mouth. It was Zak’s face that tipped him off to it. The way his mouth twitched and eyes narrowed at the sight.

He shouldn’t have called them, shouldn’t have brought them here. Saving Harley was sentiment, the barest form of weakness. Mercy was something he should have moved past a long time ago. It had never stopped him before. How many people had begged him not to pull a trigger? Or to stop tearing skin from bone with one of his wicked blades? Never before had it bothered him to watch someone bleed to death, to watch as life drained and their body became nothing more than an inanimate object.

But Harley…

The second he heard her screams from the fire escape his insides had gone cold. It had sent him immediately into action, running up the stairs as his mind lit up with electricity.

30 seconds to the top of the stairs, maybe less.

Climb in the window, incapacitate the fucker making her scream like that, assess wounds, get a medic if needed, and then torture the asshole responsible.

Simple. It had been so simple in his mind.

And then he’d found her. Water all over the floor, blood and vomit mixed with it. And Harley lying there with her mouth sliced into a smile to match his own.

Watching her bleed out should have been easy. Maybe it would have been satisfying to watch the great enigma that was his newfound obsession turn into nothing but a corpse. To have her end the same way everyone else did. No longer a mystery, no longer occupying long-forgotten crevices of his psyche. Dead. Lifeless. Inanimate. For a second he thought he was going to let it happen, even toyed with the idea of helping her along.

But she had reached out by then, pulled closer to him and cried on his shoe. Admitted she was scared, for fuck’s sake.

Harley, his Harley. His Harley, who faced homelessness like a challenge, who tried to refuse the money to keep her alive because she was too proud, who somehow reminded him that he had the capacity to be human even though he hadn’t felt it in nearly a decade. That Harley was admitting to being scared. He couldn’t let her die scared.

So he’d called Zak.

And by the look on the other man’s face, he was starting to regret that decision. He should have just found her booze and sewing kit and stitched her up himself.

Because now Zak was looking from the girl on the floor and back up to him with a mixture of shock and confusion.

“Who the fuck is she?” That was the other clown, the driver.

He felt it then, the subtle change in his mind where emotion turned off with a subtle click, replaced entirely by rage. For a moment it felt as though his eyes were glazing over, drawing in a breath through his nose and inhaling the almost-sweet smell of blood. The physical change was subtle, his neck popping as his shoulders hunched and his head cocked to the side. 

“Boss? Who’s the chick?”

Immediately the Joker’s eyes narrowed and he reached for the gun tucked in the waistband of his slacks against the small of his back.

“What’s your name?” His voice was high, a warning that the other man didn’t recognize.

Shrinking visibly, the clown glanced between he and Harley. “Uh, Barry.”

The Joker kept his hand rested on the grip of the gun and stepped toward the clown. “Barry. That’s a good name. Did you drive Zak here, Barry?”

Clearly confused, the clown nodded. “Yeah.”

“You won’t be driving home.”

And then he unloaded an entire round from his semi-automatic into the man’s chest.

“Jesus Christ!” Zak sounded angry. “If the cops weren’t on their way, they sure as hell will be now.”

Even when the Joker’s eyes snapped from the body on the ground to his right hand man, the man didn’t shrink. Didn’t even back down. The Joker frowned.

“You wanna be next, Zaky-boy?” Dropping the clip, he took another from his coat and loaded the gun.

“And let you stitch this girl up?” Scoffing, Zak shook his head. “I saw what you did to that side of your face when you managed to open it again and tried to fix it yourself.”

Tracing the inside of his cheek with his tongue, the Joker tilted his head in disapproval. “You reeeeaaally like pushing your luck today, don’t you?”

With a certain swagger, he came to stand in Zak’s space. His face poked and prodded into the other man’s comfort zone as fear began to creep into his eyes.

“I let you live once,” he growled, searching the other man’s eyes and savoring the panic he saw there. “I don’t have to do it again.”

Silence began to spread as Zak tried to find a way to step away, but with each step the Joker followed.

“Alright, alright.” Zak held his hands up and took a step sideways toward Harley. She was starting to slump against the cabinets, J noticed. They should probably get her stitched up soon to stop that bleeding.

Wordlessly he nodded toward her body and Zak moved immediately. Kneeling beside her, he put a hand on Harley’s shoulder to rouse her. Even when Harley opened her eyes, they were unfocused and it was clear she was a hair away from unconscious. Two fingers held her wrist as he searched for her pulse and the frown that tugged his lips had the Joker moving forward as though on instinct.

“We need to get her back to the warehouse.” Even as he said this, Zak was pulling her limp body away from the counter and trying to lift her.

“I’ve got her.” He practically threw Zak out of the way as he hooked an arm under Harley’s knees and another under her arms and lifted her against his chest.

It was strange, so strange, to have her pressed this close to him in the state that things were in. He heard her mumble, the words getting mangled by her tongue.

“Don’t talk, Harley.” He hardly meant the words, but knew they were necessary. “Can you put your arms around my neck?”

Nodding, Harley complied and held onto him with weak limbs.

“Do you want me to drive, boss? Since you killed Barry?” There was almost enough sarcasm there to make the Joker grin. He didn’t, though. Just grunted in agreement as he started toward the door.

In moments Zak was on his heels, grabbing Harley’s purse off the counter before coming past him to open the door and following him down the stairs. No apartment doors opened as they went. None of the other residents seemed even slightly curious about the ruckus that had been coming from Harley’s apartment. The sheer lack of interest – or maybe it was fear – made the Joker smile. Just a cynical twitch of the lips as he carried Harley to the car, amused at how completely used to violence and terror this neighborhood was. A girl had nearly been murdered in apartment 406, multiple shots fired, and so far there hadn’t been so much as a nosey neighbor, let alone police.

That’s the Narrows for you.

Zak pulled the front door open for him before helping him load Harley into the car. As the Joker climbed into the back beside her, Zak took the driver’s seat, and they took off like a shot down the road as soon as the door closed.

As they drove, J turned Harley over in his lap so that she could, once again, spit on the floor if need be. That rag was still pressed against her mouth, but it was starting to soak through with blood again. Had he been thinking, he would have grabbed extra.

“Where to?” Zak asked, glancing at his boss in the rearview mirror.

“Closest warehouse we have.” For a moment he considered that order before shaking his head. “Scratch that. Take us to that little place in Red Hook by the docks. You’ve still got your setup there, right?”

Ten minutes across town with good traffic. That may put her out 3 pints of blood. Blood transfusion would be necessary then.

From his lap, he heard Harley groan and watched as she spit more blood onto the carpet. His hand went to her hair and tucked the loose strands away from her damp cheeks.

Fuck.

“Yeah, boss.” Tension was building in Zak’s jaw, making his fingers go white on the steering wheel.

Teeth working at the scarred inside of his cheek, the Joker raised an eyebrow at his driver. As soon as their eyes met in the rearview, Zak looked away.

“Something eating at you, Zacky-boy?” His head tilted and he put on his best concerned face.

With a determined shake of his head, Zak focused on the road.

It was clear then exactly what was bothering him. Had been since he had shot the nosy fucker in the apartment. They both were curious from the moment they walked in the door and he hadn’t so much as given them a hint.

“You think I did it, don’t you?” His voice was low, but the mockery was unmistakable. “That she crossed me somehow and I carved her up good before calling you.”

Those hands on the steering wheel tightened and Zak refused to make eye contact with him in the mirror. It only egged him on.

“Or maybe, mayyybe you think she’s a whore. That I fucked her a little too hard and got carried away when I liked the way she screamed.”

He noticed that Harley had put a hand on his knee and squeezed. So she was conscious enough to pay attention. He bit back the smile that tried to accompany that realization. Clearly she didn’t like what he was saying. By the look of absolute disgust on Zak’s face, he didn’t either.

Shifting in his seat, he slouched low and continued to paw at Harley’s hair. The movement kept him grounded, reminded him that she was alive and real and still by his side. They were going to save her, going to fix her up right. Everything was going to work out, of that he was certain. He only wished the damn car could go faster so that they could get this over with.

Harley’s breath was coming in quick gasps against his leg and he wondered if it was from pain or blood loss. Her heart was pounding, that much he could tell just by pressing against a pulse point for a moment. Her skin was starting to feel cold and clammy. Definitely the result of blood loss.

Probably in Class 2 hemorrhage by now, which meant they really did need to hurry. He knew they had some blood in a cooler back at base, but he really didn’t want to have to go through a blood transfusion with her.

A glance up at the steering wheel showed him that Zak’s hands were still gripping too tightly, his jaw still set and his eyes angry. That was the face of a man who wanted answers, and for once J was feeling generous.

Or maybe that was just because Harley’s hand had moved from his knee to grip two of his fingers as though he were a lifeline.

“But maybe, Zacky-boy, maybe you figured it out.” He adjusted his hand to cover hers and tried to transfer some of his heat to her. “Maybe you remembered that first day in the new warehouse, when I realized some idiot had forgotten to bring a coffee maker. Maybe you gathered that I’ve been disappearing every morning like clockwork because there was a girl at a coffee shop down the road that made the best damn coffee in the city. That she managed to get into my head, fill all the empty parts of my brain like smoke, and linger there even when I swore I didn’t want her.” His hand tightened on hers for just a moment and she made a quiet noise of approval. “That for the last three nights I’ve been slipping out just to see her.”

Those hands on the wheel started to have color returned to them.

“I couldn’t have done this to her, Zak. I couldn’t even let her die in front of me, and you know how much I enjoy that.” He laughed, a desperate giggle to hide the fact his throat felt a little tight at the idea of seeing Harley dead. “I can’t let her go yet. I can’t. And that’s why I need you to put that tactical driving training to use and get to that fucking warehouse as fast as possible.”

He watched as the realization took Zak’s face, the smile that followed and the way he shook his head. Somewhere deep in his memory, J remembered seeing him smile like that a long time ago.

“It should absolutely terrify me that you’ve told me this much, you bastard.” Still, Zak laughed. His palm thumped the wheel before moving to scratch the back of his neck. “Most of the guys you tell that much shit to end up with a bullet right between the eyes. I’ve seen you do it to guys that looked at you wrong. But, I gotta tell you, man. I haven’t heard you sound like that in a fucking decade. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t missed it.”

“We both know that being stuck with me is a fate worse than death.” The comment came from somewhere deep within him, as did the laugh that followed it.

Shrugging, Zak tapped his fingers against the wheel. “I have been serving with you for over a decade now. At this point, the only way I’m getting out is in a body bag.”

“I can arrange that for you.” It was a joke and they both knew it.

“You’ve never been big on favors, boss.”

The Joker grinned. “You used up your favor a long time ago.”

For just a moment, Zak’s face fell. “I think that was a mutual favor. You saved my ass and I saved yours.”

J still remembered it. The gunfire, the blood, his body exhausted from being pushed repeatedly past his threshold for pain. Face gaping and bleeding, he had collapsed in the wreckage he created to get them free. And then Zak had stepped up, pulled up his medic bag and began to suture his face back together. 

“I told her about that.” Probably shouldn’t have admitted that, but he did anyway. “When…when she was laying there she asked me how I’d gotten these and I told her. Didn’t even make something up.”

They exchanged a look then, a silent promise on both of their parts to never mention this moment. Only a few like this had passed since they had returned from the desert. Since the Joker had managed to convince the one person he had ever played hero for that they should wage war against the society that had abandoned them.

Because here, in the car with Harley coming in and out of consciousness between them, J knew that the stakes had somehow been upped. That they had moved on to a new hand in the game, the start of something much bigger. They were laying chips and soon there would be no choice but to shove everything to the middle and go all in.

Clearing his throat, Zak sped up to catch the light. “Who did it?”

The speed with which they took the next corner had J holding Harley to keep her from slipping off his lap.

“Not sure yet.” Admitting that made the Joker snarl. “But as soon as I do…”

His hands tightened on Harley’s and she made a quiet sound of approval. That meant she was still awake. Good.

Silence began to settle between the two men in the car, broken only by the occasional mindless words to keep Harley awake.

“Holdin’ up alright, doll? …Almost there, almost therealmostthere. No sleeping. Not yet. Nonono.”

It was just as much to keep him conscious of the moment as it was to draw her attention. His mind had a tendency of running away with him, of drawing him far from his physical surroundings as the synapses sparked and filed and planned. Always planning, always waiting.

Not much longer.

Gravel crunched beneath the tires as the SUV pulled up close to the warehouse. An old distribution center for robot parts, according to the paperwork they had found along with the old place. Wayne Enterprises had long since forgotten its existence and now it served as the perfect place to keep his supplies and a few of his boys when space got tight.

This was one of their better bases, and one of the few that actually had a second floor. Some time ago he had left a bed up there. Back in the days when he used to sleep somewhat regularly. Best he knew, it hadn’t been used in months, but it would be a good place to put Harley while Zak stitched her up.

“Anybody else here?” He positioned Harley in his arms and slid out of the car, careful not to bump her head on the way.

With a clumsy foot, he shut the door and headed toward the side door with easy access to the staircase.

“Not that I know of.” Zak sounded distracted and J glanced back to see him taking a bag out of the back of the car.

Medical supplies. His smaller kit, judging by the size of the bag.

Noticing his gaze, the medic nodded toward the door. “My good suture kit is upstairs, along with the cooler of blood. This was backup.”

Always prepared. Just like the fucking Boy Scout he was. There was a reason J kept him around, and it certainly wasn’t sentiment. Yes, their past had some meaning to him. They had been brothers in arms, still were in some way, but that was a long time ago. Plenty of time for Zak to wear out his welcome and spend the good will J still harbored for him. But he had proved his worth time and time again.

His medical expertise alone was enough of a reason to have him around, without even taking his technological skills into account. The man could hack like nobody’s business, had successfully erased them from any files that the government may have had on them. Jack Napier and Zecharias Buddy were long since dead, all record of their existence expunged completely. It was a thing of beauty, without which none of this would have been possible.  
And it was all thanks to Zak and his magic computer fingers.

The front door was unlocked and J slipped inside as Zak held the door for him. He took the stairs two at a time as his mental countdown started.

Five minutes to hook her up to a precautionary blood bag. Another half hour for Zak to stitch her up, if he was fast.

“Where are we?” Harley’s voice broke through his thoughts and he frowned at the intrusion.

Ignoring the question, he reached the top of the stairs and kicked the door open with a bang. The bed was in the far corner of the room, tucked away unused. In five quick strides he was across the room, his face wrinkling at the sight of the sweat-yellowed sheets. He was not about to lay her on those.

“Where are we?” she asked again, more insistently this time.

With an annoyed breath, he turned his attention to her.

“My place,” he said offhandedly. “Zak’s going to get you all stitched up. Can you stand?”

Her brow knitted in concentration, and she shook her head no. “I’m dizzy.”

Lips pressed tightly together, he nodded his understanding. Carefully he sat her on the bed, one hand still supporting her as the other began working the sheets away. The weight of her head pressed against his shoulder and he glanced down to make sure she was still awake. Though her eyes were open, they were clearly unfocused.

Definitely going to need that blood.

Footsteps echoed up the stairs, clearly Zak’s considering how light they were despite his heavy, steel-toed combat boots. No matter how many years they spent away from combat, he refused to give up those damn boots. Some things never changed.

“I’ve got three pints of O Negative that we can give her, if we need to.” The medic was already heading toward the bed. “I checked her purse for a donor card, but couldn’t find one, so we’ll go with the universal.” His arm entered J’s line of sight and gathered the wad of sheets before tossing them carelessly onto the floor. “Did they manage to cut through the cheek completely?”

It was all business now and they understood that. There was a sort of protocol that came into play here, a familiar sense of urgency vibrating off the atoms in the air.

The Joker shook his head, laying Harley out on the bed and propping her up by folding over the single pillow. “Not that I could tell. The depth is uneven, but he didn’t break completely through the muscle.”

“Good. Can we prop her up a little better?”

His mass of tangled hair shook violently as he slipped out of his coat and jacket and threw them on to the pile of sheets. “There aren’t any more pillows.”

Frowning, Zak glanced about the room for something else to prop his patient up with. “How about we sit her against the wall for now? I just need to make sure she doesn't bleed into her mouth.”

As Zak rushed about gathering a lamp for more direct lighting and gauze to stop the bleeding in her mouth, the Joker sat her against the wall. She was starting to fade in and out of consciousness faster now. Every time he spoke to her, her eyes would open for a brief moment before slipping out of focus and closing again. If he asked her questions, her response was always mumbled, hardly coherent to begin with. After she nearly slipped down the wall, he growled in frustration and turned to Zak.

“She won’t stay up. She keeps…slipping. Blood loss, I think.” He began rolling his sleeves up to his elbows as he tried to decide what to do with her.

Looking up from the bag he was pawing through, the medic nodded.

“Can you hold her up? I think it’s our best option, and it makes the lighting more manageable.”

There was almost no hesitance in agreeing to the request, though he felt there should have been. Something about being this physically close to her in the presence of one of his hired hands felt wrong. Had it been anyone other than Zak, he probably would have right out refused. But complying meant saving Harley, and in the end he could only nod and lift her torso before crawling in bed behind her.

His feet were kicked up on either side of her body and her head fell back against his chest. When he looked up at Zak, he tried to seem annoyed. “Like this?”

Glancing up, Zak did his best not to grin. “Yeah, boss.”

Licking his lips, he pushed her head forward to keep the blood from draining into her mouth. “I’m only doing it to keep her comfortable.”

“I know, boss.” The amusement in his voice made it clear that he didn’t believe the cover for one second, but J found himself too preoccupied with keeping Harley awake to care.

Tonight was some sort of exception to their usual unspoken rules of conduct. It didn’t matter what their roles in this were, that he should have killed Zak ten times over for the moments of weakness he had been witness to. None of it mattered. He wouldn’t kill him because now was not the time, because Harley was still bleeding out with each moment they wasted, because Zak had seen him at lower times than this and still managed to live.

Oh, yes, he had not forgotten those times when they first came back to Gotham, even if he now viewed them from the other side of fogged glass in his mind. When the two of them had been living in the remains of condemned homes and sold prescription drugs so that they could buy food. Those nights when he was still known as Jack and would wake up screaming because he could still feel pain that should have been long forgotten. He would burn alive and drown while unconscious, the memory of blades under his fingernails and carving his face still too fresh to bury. They would stay awake for days on end to keep the dreams at bay.

That was where this war had started. From one bad night of Jack talking too much about how bitter all of the corruption around them tasted, about how sick to death he was of hearing men who had never lifted a finger for the actual good of their city referred to as heroes. And then Zak had laughed and asked the question that had sent everything spiraling out of control. That had landed them where they were today.

“Makes you want to burn it all down sometimes, doesn’t it? Bring them down to our level.”

And so they did.

Started with the mob and began to work their way up until the Joker had enough momentum to take on the whole city. That moment drew closer by the day, and at this point Zak was in too deep to even try getting out. And the Joker? The Joker didn’t want to.

A heavy bag of medical supplies was dropped near his leg and the Joker looked down in surprise.

“I’m going to start cleaning this, if you want to hook her up to a blood bag.” The medic’s eyes were sharp behind his glasses as he began to rip open packages of gauze. “Wait, help me open her mouth first.”

With a grunt of compliance, he tapped Harley’s arm insistently. “Say ‘ah,’ sweetheart.”

Her head shifted and she tried to look back at him. “Wha-?”

“Close enough.” Taking a stack of gauze pads from Zak, he held her mouth open with two fingers between her teeth and put a few pieces against the inside of each cheek.

When he was finished damming the bleeding, he glanced over at Zak and the syringe he was preparing.

“This will only sting for a second, “ the medic promised, cleaning an area of her cheek with an alcohol swab before injecting her cheek with what the Joker assumed was lidocaine.

Air was sucked in hard through Harley’s nostrils as she tensed at the burn that preceded her face going numb. Then, just as quickly as it had happened, she relaxed. Literally sighed as the lidocaine kicked in and she no longer felt the insistent screaming of nerves. Getting to his feet, Zak took a second syringe and numbed the other side as well.

A bag of blood was handed to J, still not quite warm.

Wrinkling his nose, he put the bag on the bed beside them. “It’s cold.”

Zak raised an eyebrow and looked at him over the rim of his glasses. “I don’t have a proper warmer, body heat works fine. It doesn’t actually need to be that warm. She hasn’t lost as much blood as I was afraid she had.”

He tried to remember what he had read once about blood transfusions. The pros and cons of warming blood as opposed to allowing the body to warm it as it became one with the other cells.

Blood is warmed before transfusion to prevent hypothermia. If given in small amounts, it can adjust to body heat as it is slowly brought into the bloodstream. Only in cases of rapid injection is it necessary to –

“Boss?”

His eyes snapped up and held Zak until unease slipped into the medic’s eyes. “Yeah?”

Focusing back on Harley’s wounds, he began swiping disinfectant across Harley’s wounds. “You gonna hook her up?”

Find a vein. 8 gauge needle. Hold – Harley gasped as Zak scrubbed at her face and the rest of the thought was lost in a jumble.

“How about I clean her up and you take care of the IV, hmm?” He may not have been at the best angle for it, but he knew damn well he wouldn’t be able to concentrate if the slightest noise from her was enough to derail his thoughts.

Shrugging, Zak handed him a gauze pad and some alcohol to disinfect the wound. Immediately he set to work, repositioning Harley’s body to get better access to her face as Zak took the bag of blood and began to prepare her for an IV.

It was a mess process, getting her face clean enough to properly see the damage that had been done. The stench of antiseptic filled his nostrils as he poured it onto the gauze and began to clear away the blood and disinfect the inside of the cut. She tensed at his every movement and he whispered meaningless words to calm her.

Cleaning was a process that he did with purpose as quickly as possible. Each swipe of fabric cleared away blood and severed tissue, but in their wake came more blood and weak sounds of discomfort. He did his best to ignore them, to focus on the sight of blood rather than the girl it was coming from. As long as they were separate in his mind he found them easier to work with.

“How’s the IV coming?” he grunted, leaning back best he could to get a good look at the cut he had been working at. It seemed sufficiently void of old blood or any trace of grime, which meant he could move on to the other side.

“Just about there,” Zak replied around the length of tubing he was holding between his teeth.

There was a rubber tie around Harley’s arm to deaden the circulation before the transfusion began. The needle was injected and the tie released. A peg on the wall served as a decent enough place to hang the bag, and Zak adjusted the drip as J moved to clean the other side of her face.

Zak moved back to his medical supplies for just a moment before settling down with a small sewing needle and lightweight fishing line. “I’m going to start suturing over here. You going to clean that side?”

“Yep.” He had already begun pouring antiseptic over the smaller cut.

It was with an amused grin that he realized they would both have crooked scars. While his were deep and jagged, the cuts on her face were more even and well carved. But where one side of her grin reached up near her cheekbone, the other only came up a few inches. Long enough to be noticeable, but nothing compared to its twin.

She was going to look beautiful once they had her stitched up.

Suddenly there was a hand on his wrist, her hand. Words were clearly on the tip of her tongue, but he shook his head and shushed her.

“Don’t want to mess up the doctor’s work, doll.” Licking his lips, he went back to cleaning her cheek.

That hand gripped tighter and he glanced down at her with a quirked eyebrow. “Do you need something?”

Rolling her eyes, she moved her grip to his bare forearm and began rubbing little circles with her thumb. Confusion must have shown clearly on his face because suddenly she was burrowing a leg under his and trying to pull closer to his chest.

A growl rumbled low in his chest and he leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Honey, I ain’t gonna cuddle you right now.”

The sound of scissors cutting thread broke through his frustration and he glanced over to see that Zak had already completed two stitches.

Realizing he had his boss’s attention, Zak caught his eyes from a moment. “Can you tilt her face your way a little bit? Lighting’s a little off.”

Wordlessly he complied, tilting her jaw with a light hand before moving back to press a gauze pad against her cheek. She made a quiet sound of approval at the contact and he sighed in exasperation, though he didn't bother to break contact.

Time seemed to pass slowly as they lay there, the steady sound of their breathing broken every so often by the clipping of fishing line. His eyes studied each movement, the way the needle pushed through her skin and the fishing line followed as Zak pulled it taut. Over and over the process was repeated until eventually the side of her face was bandaged and they could move on to the other.

The smaller cut took less time, the movements deft and quick. It was a science now. Push and pull of the needle, the thread that followed, tie it off, repeat. Every so often Zak would clear away more blood with a gloved hand.

When it was finally finished, the stitches were covered with bandage and Zak sat up straight with a groan.

“What do you think, boss?” His voice was hoarse from disuse.

The Joker looked from Harley to the medic and back. “I think she is going to need a fuckton of painkillers.”

Snorting, Zak nodded his agreement. With a stiff hand he rubbed the back of his neck and tried to get the sore joint between his shoulders to pop. “What do we do with her now?”

Black eyes drifted lazily down at the body propped against his, took in the blood-soaked clothing and mussed hair. She was going to need to be properly cleaned up at some point. And just like that a plan was forming in his mind, parts connecting and synapses firing too quickly. But he followed their lines just as he had trained himself to do. Went over ten different routes of action before he even bothered to voice any of them.

Cracking his back against the wall, he fine-tuned each potential path until picking the one that made the most sense. “We need to keep her for a while, few days, at least. Need to get her cleaned up at some point, get her a change of clothes, and that apartment needs to be scrubbed so someone doesn’t come along and think she was kidnapped.”

After blowing out a long breath, Zak got to his feet and began gathering and putting away his medical supplies. “I’ll get some boys on cleaning crew. You want me to stay here while you run and whip them into shape?”

“Nah, you can do it. I trust you not to mention anything to them. Just get her shit and make sure they don’t get into anything.” He shrugged at that last statement, tried to move Harley’s body and realized that she was fast asleep. For a moment he frowned, but didn’t attempt to wake her. “It doesn’t look like I’m going to be able to escape here, anyway.”

The idea of a smile crossed Zak’s face and he nodded in attempts to hide it. “So, she needs clothes, apartment needs to be cleaned up. Anything else?”

Again he shifted and Harley mumbled, stopping him dead. “Yeah. There’s an envelope somewhere in the apartment. Should be a little less than ten grand in there. Take it and find us a place to stay that’s a little more, uh, comfortable.”

Without another word, Zak grabbed his supplies and headed down the stairs, leaving J alone with Harley. He listened to the sound of her now-even breathing, the buzz of the fluorescent lights above them, the crunch of gravel as the SUV pulled out of the parking lot a few minutes later.

There was no way in hell he could sleep that night with the way his mind now raced with new and creative ways to hide what had happened. Harley needed to be hidden, their tracks covered completely. Come six the next morning her boss was going to be worried by her absence. There might be cops, missing person reports, and by then he would have her long gone. Locked up tight where no one would find her.

She was his now and there was no way he was ever giving her back. Given enough time, she would come to thank him for it.


	6. Beauty School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harley sees her stitches for the first time and J tries to be reassuring.

“I watch you taste it  
I see your face  
And I know I’m alive  
You’re shooting stars  
From the barrel of your eyes  
And it drives me crazy  
Just drives me wild”

~ Deftones “Beauty School”

///

[July 20th, 2008 06:10 AM]

“Hey, Harls, it’s Ann. Currently it’s a little after six and you’re not here. Is your subway running late? I’m sure you’re exhausted from your wild night. [laughter] Call me and let me know you’re on your way, alright?”

[July 20th, 2008 07:30 AM]

“Harley, it’s Ann again. Where the hell are you? You better not have slept through your alarm! At least give me a fucking call to let me know you’re alright. Christ.”

[July 20th, 2008 10:47 AM]

“I swear to Christ if you don’t call me back I’m going to fucking fire you. I just worked the entire morning rush by myself. Don’t bother coming in. Lily’s coming in to cover for you. Asshole.”

[July 20th, 2008 15:38 PM]

“I cannot fucking believe you. Is this your way of quitting? You’re just not going to answer your phone or call me back. Three fucking years of working together and this is how you repay me. Fuck you too!”

[July 20th, 2008 15:41 PM]

“I’m really sorry about that last message. I’m just worried about you, Harls. This isn’t like you. I’m sure your phone just died again and something came up. It’s still bullshit and we need to have a serious talk, but I’m not going fire you or any stupid shit like that. I overreacted and I’m sorry. Just…let me know you’re safe, alright? I love you.”

[July 21st, 2008 06:14 AM]

“Two days in a row? Really? If I don’t hear from you by noon I’m calling the cops.”

[July 21st, 2008, 12:23 PM]

“That’s it. I’m calling the cops.”

///

The next three days came in small glimpses for Harley. She remembered needles and J holding her while she slept. There had been a car ride in there somewhere, and a shower that had been too cold. None of it made sense, none of it seemed coherent. J’s voice had entered her consciousness more often than anything else, so she knew he must have been near, but mostly she only fully registered an ever-present pain in her face.

It was a Wednesday afternoon when she finally awoke to find herself alone in a bed that was definitely not her own, in a room she did not recognize. It surprised her to find she was wearing pajamas that she had no memory of putting on. Not only did she not remember putting them on, she was certain they were not hers. The sweatpants were ill fitting, the elastic waistband nearly too loose on her hips, and the shirt was at least two sizes too big and had a giant picture of a smiling moon on it.

Someone had changed her while she was out.

“What the?” Pain in her mouth kept her from finishing the thought, her curse of choice lost in a sharp intake of breath.

And then she remembered.

Remembered blood and pain and the smiling face of Victor Zsasz digging his switchblade into her face as he drew her a permanent smile of her own. One to match that of the man the mob believed to be her lover. It confused her to no end how they had managed to gather that information, let alone why they had sent an assassin after her.

But they had, and now…

With trembling hands she brushed two fingers against her cheek. Felt the ruined skin and knots of fishing line that held it together. Traced the stitches from just below her left cheekbone across her lips to the middle of her right cheek near her gums.

For one blessed moment she had believed those scars to be nothing but a nightmare, but now there was no denying them. Beneath her fingers she could feel the damning evidence of the attack, the permanent grin she would never rid herself of.

Breath caught in her throat and she felt it tighten at the thought of the scars she would one day have. At the memory of the face that once stared back at her in the mirror now forever changed. Forever smiling. Back in her apartment, when surviving had been her only concern, the idea of scars didn’t bother her. But now, with the damage pressing against the pads of her fingers, she could not help feeling the self-pity that burrowed deep in her stomach.

When she tried to frown, her face hurt too badly to properly hold the expression and she felt tears sting her eyes at the strain. At least, she liked to believe it was pain that drew them there. Certainly felt more legitimate than admitting she was disappointed by the change in her face when she should be feeling lucky to be alive.

“Wellll… Good morning, beautiful.” The sound of J’s voice surprised her, his odd way of drawing out the sentence bringing a smile to her face. It didn’t last long, though, not with the way her muscles tugged at the fishing line holding them together.

She turned to see him standing in the doorframe of the bedroom, propping himself against the dark stained trim with a casual elbow. The warpaint was fading from his face, patches of skin showing beneath the white paint.

“No fancy suit?” Speaking felt like a chore, her vocal chords protesting weakly against the vibration. Even when she attempted to clear her throat it felt thick and heavy.

Shaking his head, he stepped into the room and grinned at her. “You would be surprised how much blood facial lacerations are capable of producing. Turns out it’s enough to nearly ruin a good suit.”

Guilt stabbed at Harley’s stomach and she tugged at her bottom lip with her teeth to keep from frowning. “I’m sorry.”

A wave of his hand dismissed the apology. “Don’t apologize, you don’t mean it.”

“But I do.” A few steps forward and she met him in the middle of the room. “You…you saved me.”

He looked down at her cynically, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “And that makes you sorry?”

“Sorry I ruined your suit, yes.” Meeting his eyes sheepishly, she shrugged and took a step closer to him. “But I’m really grateful that you saved me.”

“I said you almost ruined it, sweetheart.” He chuckled, running a hand through his mess of green hair. “I cleaned it up fine. Knowing how to take out bloodstains is an important skill in my business.”

With a small chuckle, she tucked “So, what is this? Casual Friday?”

That really made him laugh and he shook his head. “Still a riot, Harley-girl.”

Unable to stop herself, she bolted forward and wrapped her arms around him. Immediately he tensed under her touch and she looked up at him with curiosity. His eyes were dark as he put his hands on his waist and pushed her back a step.

Confused, she pressed her mouth into a tight line and stepped out of his grasp.

Agitation had his lips curling back from his teeth and he threw his hands out at his sides. “You can thank me later, honey. Right now I need you to talk to me.”

Crossing her arms, she raised an eyebrow at him. Disappointment made her blood feel cold. After all of the bullshit she had been through the past few days, the least he could do was give her a few moments of affection. Yet here he was, not even giving her time to properly adjust to her new surroundings before he was insisting that they talk.

“Okay, but if we’re going to talk, I want answers too.” It only seemed fair that if he was going to insist that they have a discussion already, she should have her questions answered as well.

Rolling his eyes, he shook his head. “This isn’t a negotiation. I need you to tell me who did this.”

Taking a few steps backwards, Harley raised her chin defiantly at him. “Questions for questions. Turnabout is fair play.”

Though he didn’t look happy about it, he nodded his agreement all the same. “Fine. My question first. Who did this to you?”

“A hitman hired by the mob. My turn.” Her eyes searched the room as she tried to decide what to ask first. “Where are we?”

The sides of his mouth twitched with what could have been amusement, but his eyes were too angry to tell. “Safe house outside of the city. Do you know who hired the hitman?”

That answer didn’t come easily. It lingered somewhere on the back of her mind, evading her attempts to retrieve it. “His name was Zsasz. Said he was hired by…fuck…I don’t remember.” She sunk onto the bed, her forehead resting in her hands.

A moment later the springs creaked and he settled beside her. “Zsasz? As in Victor Zsasz?”

Shaking her head, she held up a finger as though scolding him. “That’s another question. My turn first. How did we get here?”

“In a car, how do you think?” He sounded flustered and Harley narrowly managed to keep herself from laughing.

“I figured it was a car. How long was I out?” A smile tugged painfully on her lips, but she couldn’t keep it from spreading just long enough for him to notice.

Grinning right back, he leaned back on his palms. “Three days. But really honey, you need to remember if - ”

It felt as though Harley’s heart skipped a beat and she cut him off with a gasp. “Three days? Is…is Ann alright? Have my shifts been covered? Does she know I’m alive? Fuck. She’s going to be pissed.”

“Alright, that was four questions, which means you have to answer mine first. Victor Zsasz works for the Falcone family, but Carmine Falcone is in Arkham. Was he hired by Salvatore Maroni?”

Heart still beating fast and mind rushing, Harley could hardly piece together an answer to the question. The name Salvatore Maroni was unfamiliar to her and she shook her head. That wasn’t the man Zsasz had mentioned. “I think it started with a G. Grahambell, maybe?”

The Joker’s eyes lit up and he was on his feet in a flash. “Gambol?”

Immediately Harley remembered the name and she nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah! That’s it!”

His face contorted in a snarl and he shook his head violently. “That son of a bitch! I knew he was going to be angry about that pencil trick.”

“Pencil trick?”

Clearly distracted, he shrugged. “Yeah. With the right momentum you can shove a pencil right through a guy’s eye socket. It’s neat, I’ll show you sometime.”

Harley wrinkled her nose at the mental image. “You shoved a pencil through this Gambol dude’s eye?”

Shaking his head, the Joker snorted. “Not him, one of his goons. He wouldn’t have lived to hire Zsasz if I had done it to him. Clearly I made a mistake in my target.”

She heard him mutter something obscene before spitting on the floor.

There was a tug at Harley’s conscience and immediately another wave of anxiety hit. “You never answered my question about work.”

“No one knows what happened to you, Harley. We got you out of there too fast. You’re currently a missing person.”

Laughter filled the air as the sheer absurdity of the statement hit her. She laughed good and hard, her throat and mouth protesting the entire time. Shaking her head, she rolled her eyes and looked back at him. “No, really. Did you call and tell her what happened?”

He didn’t laugh, though. Didn’t even look amused. Jus fixed her with a serious look that gave her the impression he was not, in fact, joking at all. “Harley, I’m wanted for armed robbery and murder. No, I didn’t call your boss and tell her that because I managed to piss off the mob they had taken their frustrations out on you. According to your voicemail, she called the cops. You’re going to be popping up on milk cartons any day now.”

It was only then that the gravity of the situation fully hit her. Something like fear and guilt combined to grip at her heart and make her throat feel tight. This felt wrong all of a sudden, like she had done something bad. Like it was her fault that she had been attacked and now the shop was shorthanded. If only she had been less stupid, maybe she could have caught her attacker before he had managed to get his knife in her…

Fingernails digging into palms, she shook her head and tried to even the cadence of her breathing.

His hands gripped her shoulders, but she tried to wriggle away. Great heaving waves of nausea rocked her stomach and she doubled over with a groan. Ann must be worried sick by now. Worried and angry… What if she fired her for this?

“Look at me, doll.”

With her mind racing like this, she couldn’t convince her body to cooperate. “Ann’s going to be so mad. What if she fires me?”

Snarling in exasperation, he gripped her hair and forced her head up to look him in the eye. “She’s not going to fire you, you’re the victim of a crime. Victor Zsasz cut your face open and then I kidnapped you.”

That caught her attention, brought all of her thoughts to a screeching halt as she looked up at him in amusement. “You didn’t kidnap me. You saved me.”

“Well, sure, we know that. But the cops? It’s not going to matter to them. As far as everyone else is concerned, you were kidnapped and as soon as they find out who did it…” He looked at her conspiratorially. “They’re all gonna blame me for that little smile of yours and say any sympathy you have is Stockholm syndrome.”

Panic bloomed in Harley’s every pore and she shook her head against its electricity. “No, I’ll tell them who did it. They can’t…I won’t let them blame you.”

He flapped his hands impatiently, fingers curling at odd angles. Clearly she was missing something and it seemed to be pissing him off. “Harley, you don’t seem to get it. It doesn’t matter anymore. You don’t have to go back.”

That didn’t make any sense. As soon as her face was healed up life would go back to normal. She would return to her apartment, he would continue sneaking in her window and scaring the shit out of her. Maybe they would come back here sometimes and spend a few nights away from the Narrows. But the scars, the attack, they changed nothing.

“What?”

Heavy hands gripped her shoulders and he shook her hard enough to make her dizzy. “You aren’t going back, Harley. There is no one to tell anything to, no one is going to listen to your side of the story because the only person you’re going to be seeing for a while is me. And maybe some of my boys, but they don’t count. I’ve already warned them that I’ll cut their tongues out if they talk to you.”

Blinking a few times, she tried to make sense of what he was getting at. “What? But what if I want to –?”

“FUCK, HARLEY, COME ON!” His arms flew up in frustration and he looked absolutely livid. “For such a smart girl you play dumb really well sometimes.”

Color rushed to her cheeks and she stood up in a rush, hands balled into fists at her sides. She was angry now, her heart pounding in fury against her ribcage. After three days of being out, she was surprised she was this coherent and somehow he had used her confusion as an excuse to call her stupid.

“I’M NOT PLAYING DUMB! I DON’T KNOW WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK YOU ARE TALKING ABOUT!”

“YOU ARE FUCKING STUCK HERE!”

The words ricocheted off the cathedral ceiling and to slap her squarely in the face. Teeth bared, he let out a growl that sounded downright inhuman.

He was seething now, rage radiating off him in waves of heat that burned Harley’s skin when he stepped close to her. When he spoke his voice was impossibly quiet and low, which was somehow worse than his yelling.

“It doesn’t matter what you want if it’s anything other than being in this house, because this is where you’re going to be until I say so. I’m going to keep you safe and hidden from the mob, and if that means that I have to call you a hostage rather than a houseguest, do not think for a second I won’t.”

Turning on his heels, he stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind him so hard it shook on its hinges. Taking in a quivering breath, Harley sank back onto the bed and willed away the tears that stung her eyes.

Her entire body was shaking with how angry she was, her hands curling into fists and uncurling just as quickly. Somewhere outside the door she could hear J barking orders and the scurry of footsteps that were decidedly not his. Part of her wanted to go barging out that door, to chase after him and demand to know why the hell he thought it was okay to just take control of her life and give her no choice in the matter. But the sudden persistent sting in her face told her that it was a terrible idea to go yelling after him.

It didn’t sit well with her. His complete lack of respect for her decisions, his blatant disregard for what she wanted, it was completely infuriating. For years she had been struggling tooth and nail to get by. Relationships had been severed, friendships lost just for the sake of her unflinching will to live by her sense of pride. Her code.

And through all of that, every bump in the road, Annika was there to help her. Ann gave her extra hours at work, didn’t yell at her for doing grad school homework on the job, had given her money out of the damn register just to make sure she would be able to keep her apartment. On countless occasions that woman had bent over backwards for her and it seemed wrong to just disappear without a trace.

That was what it all boiled down to, really. She appreciated everything J was trying to do for her. The way he had saved, brought her to get stitched up and then found them a safe house. A place the mob would never find them, where he could make sure no one hurt her again. It wasn’t that she was ungrateful for what he was trying to accomplish, in fact she appreciated him all the more for his effort.

Even so, no amount of good intentions could excuse the way he had blatantly cut her off from everything. All she wanted was to call Ann and tell her everything was alright. That there was no need to get the police involved because she was safe now.

She wanted to tell him that, to explain her dilemma to him so that he might reconsider and allow her some contact with the outside world. It wasn’t like she could tell anyone where she was. Hell, she didn’t even know where she was. All she wanted to do was keep the one person that legitimately cared about her from worrying too much.

It was out of control. Everything was out of control and she was unable to even try to take the reins because she had no idea where things were even headed. Her head was starting to pound, her entire body tense and exhausted all at once. Maybe if she just closed her eyes for a second, she would be able to find some sort of peace…

There was no telling how long she lay there, so angry and exhausted that no tears would come. Her mind was racing too quickly for sleep to properly find her, and all there was to do was watch the warm afternoon light fade to the red glow of evening.

It was as the glow was beginning to fade from orange to pink that she realized she couldn’t remember the last time she had eaten. There was a pang in her stomach that told her the rumbling of hunger had long since passed. Those weren’t just hunger pangs in her gut, it was physical pain at the sudden desperate need to eat.

Grimacing against the ache, she got to her feet and tiptoed over to the door, still nervous about drawing J’s attention again. Though she had managed to logically come to a conclusion about the situation, she feared he would still be angry.

For a moment she stood with her hand on the door handle, listening for any sign of life outside. Complete silence, no footsteps or voices. The coast was clear.

The door squealed on ancient hinges as she opened it, her eyes beginning to really take in her surroundings for the first time. Dark hardwood floors were consistent from the bedroom to the hallway, which seemed to be on the second floor. To her right there were three doors, all of which here closed, and to her left there was a staircase leading to the floor below.

Light footsteps carried her down the hall and she descended the staircase on tiptoe. At the bottom of the steps she found herself in a large open room with a fireplace completely devoid of furniture. Huge bay windows overlooked a body of water that she assumed was the river, across which she could see the sprawl of Gotham. Carefully she stepped into the room and noticed a table to her left. When she turned the corner, she was pleased to find the kitchen, which looked like it hadn’t been updated in a good few decades. But there was a box of crackers on the counter and that was all she needed. 

In a few quick steps she was across the room, grabbing the box off the counter and devouring a handful of cheddar flavored crackers. She actually groaned at how good they tasted, how satisfying it was to actually get some food in her. Handful after handful was stuffed into her mouth as best her torn cheeks would allow and she didn’t stop until there were mere crumbs left in the bottom of the box.

Feeling full, if not a little sick, she dropped the box and leaned her palms on the beige Formica countertop. Her mouth felt dry suddenly and she began to rummage through the cupboards in search of a cup, settling for the first dusty coffee mug she found. Three mugs were downed in minutes and she was filling a fourth when she heard footsteps behind her.

Wiping her mouth on the back of her hand, she spun around to see a dark haired man enter the kitchen. He frowned when he noticed her there, his brown eyes taking in her oversized pajamas and coming to rest on her stitched face. There was something familiar about him, but Harley couldn’t place it.

“What are you doing down here?” His accusatory tone had her immediately on edge and she eyed the path back up the stairs before looking back at him.

“I…I was hungry.” The way he was looking at her made her feel like a child getting in trouble for getting into something they weren’t supposed to. “Where’s J?”

Those eyes continued to scrutinize her as he crossed his arms. “He left with a few of the guys this afternoon. You know, most people that piss him off that bad get a bullet between the eyes. What did you do?”

Shrinking against the counter, Harley shrugged. “We had a disagreement.”

He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t push the subject. Again his gaze returned to her stitches and he frowned. “You should probably go back upstairs. I expect he’ll be back soon.”

The frown deepened and he took a few steps toward her. Immediately she felt herself tense, but he kept a respectful distance as he squinted at the cuts on her face. It made her uncomfortably aware of the stitches, the ones she hadn’t even bothered to look at yet. Something about finally looking at them herself would make them too real and she wasn’t certain she was ready for that yet. By ignoring them, she could pretend like they didn’t exist.

That is, until some stranger started looking at them too close.

She was about to ask him what the hell was so fascinating when he suddenly stepped back and nodded approvingly.

“They’re healing up well already,” he said with a smile. “It was a good idea to let you rest a few days. You’ll want to go clean them up a little bit, though. Looks like you managed to make the swelling come back by yelling earlier. Not to mention the cheez-it dust.”

When he laughed, Harley could feel herself begin to relax and she did her best to smile at him. “What’s your name?”

His face fell slightly and she noticed that he looked almost hurt. “You don’t remember? I’m Zak. I, uh, I’m the guy that stitched you up.”

With a twinge of guilt, she stared down at her bare feet. “I’m really sorry. That whole night is really fuzzy. I don’t even remember…”

Trailing off, she pointed at the stitches on her face. The only clear thing in her mind from that night was J and his voice keeping her just a hair above conscious. Everything else was a blur of pain and blood.

“But thank you,” she added, offering a weak smile. “If it weren’t for you and J…”

Again she stopped mid sentence, still not completely comfortable with thinking about what would have happened if Zsasz had been left to finish what he started.

“Yeah…” He shrugged, unfolded his arms and scratched the back of his neck. “It’s the least I could do. I think you’re already in over your head, taking up with the boss and all that. He said you were a barista. How did you even end up with him?”

There were many different ways she felt that could be answered, but she settled on the one that seemed to carry the least implications. “Well, he likes the way I make his coffee. Besides, I’m not sure I’d say I’m…with him…you know? It’s…it’s a really weird situation.”

Holding up his hands, Zak shrugged. “It’s none of my business. I just know he ain’t ever gone out of his way to save someone before. Not like he did for you. Hell, you screamed at him and lived to see another day.”

That last comment made him grin, try as he may to hide it. She felt very distinctly like there was some history she was missing out on, some reason that he seemed so pleased by whatever it was that she made J feel. Or do. After their fight this morning, she wasn’t certain he was capable of feeling anything other than angry.

“You should get back upstairs,” Zak said, glancing over at the clock on the stove. “There’s a bathroom in your room. Go clean those stitches and use the antibiotic cream in there to make sure the wound stays disinfected and hydrated. If you need anything you can yell for me, but the boss should be back soon.”

Frowning at the idea of having to deal with J and his temper again, she shrugged. “He’ll probably just tell me to figure it out myself. I think I pissed him off good and proper.”

That made Zak throw his head back and laugh, his shoulders shaking as he tried to nod. “Well, you certainly did, but I think he’ll be in a better mood by the time he gets back. Revenge really does it for him.”

Not certain she understood, Harley made to ask about it, but he held up a hand and pointed upward. “I’m sure he’ll explain when he gets home. But in the meantime you need to go clean those stitches.”

Harley nodded, glancing in the direction of the staircase. A low growl from her stomach told her that the crackers really had not been enough to sustain her. “Do you think we’ll get dinner tonight? I’m fucking starving.”

“I’ll pass word along. We’ll probably get pizza. You have any preferences?”

“Something hot and fresh. No anchovies or mushrooms.” Tilting her head she gave him a nonchalant smile before heading upstairs to take his advice and take a shower.

After sleeping for three days she felt greasy and stiff. It hadn’t occurred to her until now, but her hair must have been an absolute mess and her make up was probably worse. None of that mattered, not really. At least she wasn’t covered in blood still.

Slowly she came to realize that they must have showered her sometime after she was stitched up. That was probably when she received her adorably hideous pajamas as well. Hopefully it had been J that did it. She couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else seeing her in that state. Not that she was particularly shy, just self-conscious.

She didn’t used to be. In fact, in college she had been quite the exhibitionist. The girls on her floor used to tell her how much they envied her physique and the shameless way she showed it off in tops that proudly showed off her midriff and shorts that were barely more than underwear. Because of the gymnastics scholarship she had received, she had been part of the team every year and it gave her an enviable body. All muscle and natural curve.

And then she had graduated, stopped competing in gymnastic tournaments, and started living on her own. The muscle never quite faded, but the distinct lack of good food made her look frail somehow. Her bones stuck out too much in certain places, her legs no longer seemed as shapely as they had once been.

Maybe now that she was off of work she could start a gymnastics regimen again.

The idea made her smile and she was strongly considering the idea as she stepped into the bathroom and made her way across the black and white checkered tile to the claw-foot tub. As she pulled back the curtain, she hummed to herself and turned on the shower.

Even now she could picture herself doing yoga in the bedroom to regain her flexibility, or taking advantage of the large empty living room to practice floor moves and flips. As long as no one was around, she was certain J wouldn’t care. He would probably be too busy planning his great take over of Gotham, or whatever it was he was up to.

Besides, he would probably appreciate her flexibility if the time ever presented itself and she could show it off properly. The thought alone was enough to bring a blush to her cheeks and a smile to her face. As she undressed, she imagined what it would be like, the way he kissed her and held her and the way his fingers would dig into her hips just like they had the other night on the couch. It made her wonder if he would moan, say her name like a prayer while he took her. Played with the image of what it would be like to take a turn on top…

And then her reflection in the bathroom mirror caught her eye.

Immediately the smile faded as she took in her new reflection for the first time. Her heart sank to her feet, fell on the floor and shattered as she stared at her ruined face. So much time spent ignoring it, not daring to picture what the damage really looked like had left her ill prepared for this moment. Deep down she knew it was going to be ugly, it had hurt far too much to be anything other than gruesome.

Still, she had not been ready for this. For the deep lacerations stretching out on either side of her mouth, or the knotted fishing line in even little stitches across her skin. Without them she could only imagine how horrifying those cuts would be, how deep they must have been. She remembered J’s face when he had found her, the absolute panic that had lit up his eyes for the second before they glazed over and he started planning how to save her.

Because he had saved her, she knew that. Had thought it over and over until it hardly felt real. But now…now it was real. Now it was clear just how determined Zsasz had been to make sure the mob viewed her as a job well done. Had J not arrived, had she not fought back…

Tracing the lacerations with her fingers, she watched her reflection mimic the action. It made it real somehow, more permanent. And the longer she felt them, the more she came to realize that they would never go away, she would never be rid of them. The stitches would go eventually, sure, but the scars would be forever.

She thought of J’s face, how long he had lived with his scars. How he pretended like they didn’t bother him, but she knew damn well just how aware of them he was constantly. The way he licked at them, shamelessly worried them with his tongue. They were a part of him, a facet of who he was. Yet he was uncomfortable with them, used them to scare people. Those scars of his dared people to fuck with him. If he could live through the torturing of having his face torn open and sewn shut, sure he could live through whatever the hell they aimed to throw at him.

Harley wasn’t certain she had it in her to mimic that attitude. These scars on her cheeks were soon to be the only thing anyone ever noticed about her. No longer would she be pretty or beautiful, she would be a freak. Never again would someone pause to admire her, no, any and all stares would be scrutiny now.

In all of her life, Harley had never felt more hopelessly vain than she did in that moment.

It was vanity that eventually convinced her to turn away from the mirror, to turn on the shower and stand under the spray as she tried futilely to forget the scars. To convince herself that her face looked just fine, that she was just fine.

But she wasn’t. Not by a long shot. The image wouldn’t fade, the self-doubt and pity crashing over her like a wave and pulling her under. She was drowning in it, couldn’t draw breath for the way it filled her and overcame her.

With those scars, all chances she may be able to return to her normal life seemed to disappear around her. No one would want a freak to serve them coffee, no one would take her smile and positive attitude as a way to brighten their day. They would see the scars and they would pity her, they would be repulsed by her, they would view her the exact same way they viewed the Joker.

Their fates really were tied together now.

Perhaps that had been why he had taken her in. He knew that with those scars life would try to chew her up and spit her out on a daily basis and he didn’t want that for her. Maybe he was trying to save her from having to face the same judgment and negativity that he dealt with on a daily basis. Because he remembered, he understood.

He had lied just to keep her believing she was beautiful.

It was unclear when exactly she had started crying, but suddenly violent sobs were shaking her shoulders and making her knees weak. Her fingers weakly gripped the shower curtain and she sank onto her knees. Shuddering breaths separated violent screaming exhales and pathetic gasps for air.

Water continued to pour over and she curled under the spray with knees drawn to her chest. She was a horror, a freak. Victor Zsasz had killed her, even if her heart was still beating. The person she was had been ruined, replaced. It was still unclear just what she had been replaced with, but it left her feeling like a shell regardless.

How could she return to being Harleen Frances Quinzel when that girl’s spirit had been broken completely?

It seemed a fitting end, really. She had been dying for a long time, and getting cut to pieces felt like the right sort of nail in the coffin. The world had ruined everything about her, even managed to take her body in the end. Brought a whole new meaning to being fucked over by life, didn’t it?

That last thought stuck out to her, made her smile despite herself. Even at her lowest point, she could still make herself smile. Maybe her spirit was not completely broken after all. Enough of the rest of her was that she felt recovering from this would take some effort, but maybe, just maybe…

The door opened and she heard footsteps echo off the tile. Sniffling, she tried to will herself to get up, not wanting whoever was in the bathroom to catch her crying.

There was a sigh, very distinctly J’s, but he didn’t speak. His presence made her heart pick up pace as she waited for him to speak, to say something about how he should have known that she would end up here, or that she was a typical woman for taking so long to get ready, or to ask what she liked on her pizza. It didn’t matter what he said, really, but she wholly expected him to interrupt her in one way, shape, or form.

But, for once, he absolutely went against her expectations.

For a long time, only the squeal of the pipes and pounding of water against skin and ceramic filled the room. Even his breathing was quieter than usual.

When it all became too much, when she couldn’t stand knowing he was present without hearing the sound of his voice, she cleared her throat. Waited for him to say something. To echo the noise. Anything. Still, he remained quiet.

Eventually Harley decided she would have to be the first to speak.

“Can I help you?” It sounded far more impatient than she had meant to.

Fabric brushed heavily against tile and she watched his shadow cross move on the other side of the curtain.

“You were screaming.” There was no judgment, no anger, no teasing. It was just a statement.

Sighing, she nodded against the steam of water that continued to wash across her back. “Yeah.”

The silence that followed bordered on awkward. Huddling further under the spray, she buried her face in her knees.

After a while he made a knowing noise in his throat and she could hear him moving outside the curtain. “Saw your face for the first time, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.” Another sob was fought back with all the strength she had as she remembered her reflection. “I…I look…”

“Don’t say it, sweetheart.” The breath he let out felt a hair short of a snarl.

It felt like her throat was closing when she breathed in and her exhale had a stifled wail on it. “He ruined my face.”

“Fucking hell. He did not –“ Cutting himself off, he took a slow breath to calm the anger building behind his words. “Honey, why don’t you come out here? We’ll get you all dried off 

Shaking her head, Harley didn’t budge. “I…I think I’d like to stay here.”

There was no logical reason that pouting in the shower seemed like her ideal plan of action, but it seemed like a good place to hide. No one could see her here, she couldn’t see her reflection. If she ignored it long enough, perhaps she would forget it altogether.

Feet shuffled against tile as he began pacing. “You know, pouting in there isn’t going to help. Come on, get out.”

Again she shook her head, though she knew he could not see her. “I really would like to just…”

“I’m sick of talking to a shower curtain.”

With measured patience, she lifted her head from her knees. “Then don’t talk. Leave.”

The pacing stopped. “I can’t do that. I need to talk to you.”

“Can’t it wait?” He was really starting to irritate her now, always picking the worst times to decide they needed to have a serious conversation. The scars forming on her face were enough to come to terms with without him trying to suffocate her thoughts.

There was the quiet pop of him worrying his scars. “No, I need to talk to you now.”

With an irritated huff, she rolled her eyes and rested her head against her knees again. “Then you are going to have to talk to a shower curtain.”

“I’ve got a better idea.”

Metal rungs screeched against the curtain rod as he pulled the curtain back. For a moment Harley thought he was going to drag her out and she was beginning to form perfectly good objections when he stepped a barefoot in the shower behind her.

“What are you doing?” she asked incredulously.

The other foot followed. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

He was wearing his purple suit now, though the jacket and coat were gone. Even so, he settled in the shower behind her still fully clothed with full warpaint to boot. The curtain was pulled shut behind him and he raised his eyebrows at her like a dare.

Stubborn as ever, Harley moved to the other side of the tub near his outstretched feet and curled up against the side, making sure her limbs mostly covered her exposed parts.

Looking cynically at her strategically placed arms, he frowned. “No sense in being modest, honey, I’ve already seen you naked.”

Harley’s face immediately went red. “Yeah, when I was asleep. Couldn’t exactly stop you then, which is actually pretty creepy.”

Impatiently he crossed his arms. “Would you rather I left you in those bloody work clothes? It’s not like I tried anything on you. Fuck, Harley, what the hell is the matter with you today?”

That stung, really truly hurt right in her heart. What was the matter? She had been attacked by a man that had referred to J as her boyfriend, who had been aiming to send a message with those marks on her face. Yet she had no idea how she even felt about J, especially now that she knew he was tearing her away from the life they had become comfortable in. So much of her life was in upheaval and he seemed to expect her to go on as if nothing had changed.

“Do you not understand how weird this is?” She indicated between the two of them.

“You were the one that refused to get out of the shower.”

“I don’t mean this physical moment. Like…okay, it is a little weird, but…shit.” If she continued like this she was going to start bawling again. “They attacked me to get to you, J. That’s what Zsasz said when he cut my face open. Said my ‘boyfriend’ had pissed off the mob and now he was going to teach you a lesson. And now…”

Digging her teeth into her bottom lip, she looked away from him. Her jaw tensed uncomfortably and she winced at the way it made her stitches pull.

With a heavy breath, he nodded his understanding. “Now you’ve gotta look at those scars every day and that scares the shit out of you.”

Tears were blurring Harley’s vision again. “He ruined it, J. He ruined my face.”

In the blink of an eye he was on her, knees bending as he slid forward and rested a hand on the back of her neck. “Look at me.”

Furrowing her brow, she complied with a frown.

“Nobody,” he said seriously. “Nobody could ever ruin your face, sugar.”

Time stood at attention and her heart skipped a beat. His words washed over her, filled every empty space of doubt that those cuts had created. It wasn’t that he had told her she was beautiful, he ‘d told her that this morning and she hadn’t believed him. No, that little pet name was the only thing she cared about. The way it rolled off his tongue and reminded her of those nights of dancing around each other in her apartment. Though it only been days, the time in between felt like an eternity.

A smile tugged at her lips and she felt the fresh sting of tears in her eyes at the relief it gave her to hear him say that word. Uncurling from the ball she had settled into, she knelt in front of him and sat back on her calves.

“That’s the first time.” Her voice was hardly more than a whisper.

“What?”

Swallowing hard, she inched her knees closer to him and rested her palm against his cheek. “That’s the first time since he cut my face that you’ve called me ‘sugar’.”

When he smiled at her it seemed genuine for the first time in days. Even with the makeup running down his face, exposing patches of skin behind small rivers in the creases of his skin, it was the most like Jack she was familiar with that he had looked since the first day he came up to her apartment.

“And you missed it, did you?” His hand twitched on the back of her neck and she became aware of just how close they were.

“I thought…” Clarity hit her then, squarely in the heart. She had missed it, she had missed it so much.

That was the first pet name he had ever called her. The better part of nearly two months had been spent listening to it change from condescension to a term of endearment. It’s absence made their past leading up to the attack seem like a distant memory. Like all that mattered now was the fact she had scars like him.

“What did you think, sugar?” Those black eyes of his were boring into her now.

Biting back those tears, she leaned forward and rested her forehead against his. “I thought you’d forgotten.”

Pushing her back, he pulled a face at her. “Forgotten what?”

Her hands were on his shoulders, rubbing little circles against the fabric of his shirt. “This. Us. Everything.”

He licked his lips, squinting his eyes at her as if that would help him read her more clearly. “You aren’t making any sense.”

“I’ve been worried,” she blurted out. “That name…it’s been a part of….whatever we have going here…since the very first day we met. You came into my coffee shop and acted like a pain in the ass, and then you called me sugar and I thought it was the dumbest thing and it made me angry, but you never quit doing it. And I grew to like it. It defined us in my head. It made me the sweetness in your life of bitter. That probably sounds stupid and I don’t care because I like it. When he cut my face open you stopped and I thought it was because you…”

Shaking her head, she trailed off and brushed the rest of the thought away.

The hand on the back of her neck tugged at her hair slightly. “No, no, don’t stop now. We were getting somewhere.”

Harley shook her head to try to dismiss the thought and he hissed in disapproval.

“I thought it was because you didn’t like me anymore, okay?” It sounded stupid even as she said it. “I thought that because he had ruined my face you thought it changed me inside. And I’m afraid... I’m afraid because I think it did and I can’t figure out how yet, but whatever it is, I don’t want it to change us.”

He laughed then, not his usual high-pitched cackle. Simply chuckled as he ghosted a thumb over her left cheek. “Things always change, sugar. Life is constantly in flux, it is chaos and uncertainty and constantly being on the brink of death. Things are going to change between us because we are constantly changing. We are figuring each other out and seeing how our pieces fit. Even now what we have is changing. And if getting that smile carved into your face didn’t change you, I wouldn’t know what to do with you. Things like that change people. It changed me. Made me into the delightful bastard I am today.” His tongue snaked across his lips and he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her flush against him. “Something in you is changing, has been changed, and we’ll figure out what it is soon enough. But I promise you that one thing those little beauty marks didn’t change was the fact that right now, even with this serious conversation we’re having, I just keep thinking about the fact that you’re naked.”

The hand on the back of her neck pulled her forward and her lips were crushed against his. It made her smile to find that kiss as greedy and possessive as ever. His tongue slid across the crease of her lips and she immediately tried to kiss him back. Stitches pulled against the edges of her mouth when she tried to kiss him properly and she gasped at the pain.

The moment he heard the noise he pulled back, moved his lips to press against the shell of her ear. “Didn’t change the fact you still taste as sweet as your little pet name implies either.”

Again his lips melded with hers, this time seeming to take her stitches into account. His mouth worked against hers, his hands memorizing the swell of her hips. Desperately she tried to move closer to him, crawling her knees up to straddle his thigh.

The world faded when they were close like this. All of the pain, the scars, the insecurities, none of it mattered now. Not when his fingernails were digging into the flesh of her hips and his mouth was moving from her lips to her jaw. This was what mattered, this was all that mattered and all she needed. He was setting her on fire, rekindling what she was certain had died with her spirit on the living room floor.

Locking her fingers in his hair, she gave one long roll of her hips and moaned at the friction.

“Not here,” he muttered.

His lips broke away from her and he reached out a hand to turn off the water. Immediately the spray stopped and he got to his feet, pulling her right along with him. In a rush he was out of the tub and over to the closet in the corner, pulling out a towel and wiping his face with it before throwing it to her. Still feeling dizzy from his kiss, she squeaked when the towel hit her in the side.

Sheepishly she bent down and picked it up, drying herself off as he unbuttoned his green waistcoat. Before she had even reached her legs, his waistcoat and tie were off. He threw them over the curtain rod of the shower to dry before taking the towel from her hands and wrapping it around her shoulders.

“Come on, sugar, you take too fucking long.”

In one swift motion he reached out and wrapped his arms around her. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she allowed him to lift her up and carry her into the bedroom.

Anticipation shook her limbs as he laid her on the bed, his eyes devouring every inch of her lying vulnerable beneath him.

His lips were on hers again in an instant, his hand moving to cradle the back of her head as he kissed her breathless. On instinct her fingers went to the buttons of his shirt and began working at them, the wet plastic slippery beneath her fingers.

When his kiss became too painful, she broke away from his mouth and pulled him down to her shoulder. Not wasting a second, he began to devour her skin. Sucked and bit at her until there were bruises where his mouth had been.

Fire was left in the wake of every touch, every brush of his flesh against hers. His shirt came unbuttoned and she pulled it down his arms along with his suspenders as his lips memorized swell of her breasts and the valley between them. One hand squeezed at the mound of flesh as his mouth latched onto the other. It had her gasping for air and crying out as she arched against his touch. His tongue memorized the taste of her skin, his fingernails biting into her as he left hickeys up her sternum. The pain it ignited was too sweet and she shrieked and clawed at his forearms. 

A growl was his way of responding. A low sound in his throat as his teeth grazed her nipple.

“Jesus, you’re gonna eat me alive, aren’t you?” It was hard to catch her breath, let alone speak.

Her fingers threaded through his damp hair and he groaned in approval. “I haven’t even begun to eat you yet, sugar.”

Grinning like the devil incarnate, he moved down her torso, trailing his tongue against her skin as he went. Her heart seemed to skip a beat, fingers curling tightly in his hair as she anticipated his next move.

The moment her lips went to her hipbones she gasped and desperately tried to wrap her legs around him. There was a fire inside her now, a great need burning her up from the inside out. Her skin was electric, his every movement nearly too much for her to handle. It had been a very long time since she had felt lust like this, a need so pure and deep within her that she wanted to scream every time he broke away and hiss at every touch.

His teeth nipped at the tender flesh of her inner thigh and she nearly kneed him in the face with how hard she twitched in response. Warm hands settled on her knees and he parted her legs, his hands roving up her thighs as he moved to kiss and bite his way up her thighs.

She could hardly breathe in anticipation of his touch. When he spoke, his hot breath ghosted over her sex and she gasped and writhed beneath him. “You’re already wet, sugar.”

Heat radiated off of her, that fire within her threatening to make her burst. “I need…”

Fingers pulling at his hair, she tried to urge him forward.

He laughed at her, at the way she was already breathless and shaking before he had even touched her. “What do you need, sugar? Tell me.”

“You know damn well…” Frustrated, she yanked at his hair again.

Hissing in a breath through his teeth, he took both of her wrists in his hand and pinned them to her stomach. “You keep pulling like that and you’re gonna have to keep your hands to yourself. Now, come on. Tell me what you want. I want to hear you say it.”

Breathing hard, Harley bared her teeth and tried to fight against his grip. It was no use, only served to amuse him as he waited for her to say what he wanted to hear.

“Please,” she gasped, wrists still twitching in his hand. “I need you to touch me.”

Grinning, he let go of her hands and settled just above the place she needed him most. “Mmmm, that’s my girl.”

The first flick of his tongue was mostly to test her, of that she was certain. And she reacted exactly as she expected he wanted, squirming and crying out at the sensation. Another tentative swipe from her entrance up to her clit. It stole her breath and made her shudder.

And suddenly he was devouring her. Eating her alive and licking her clean, fitting his tongue against her, inside her, drawing shapes against her clit. Her hips bucked against his face and he held her down with firm hands on each thigh.

She reveled in his exploration, in the careful way he seemed to calculate and file away each reaction and repeated the ones that drew out the reaction he wanted. And once he had her figured out, he had her on a fast track to completely losing herself.

He buried his face in her, drawing her closer with each swipe of his tongue. There was a pressure building within her, an insistent need to quench that fire he lit. Just another few movements like that, his tongue working her as her hips tried to match his rhythm. Twisting her fists in the sheets, she cried out and bucked against the hands holding her down. So close that she could just…

When he pulled away she actually screamed in frustration. “Don’t you fucking stop now.”

“One of these days I’m going to give you a lesson in patience.” It was a promise and she understood that. Wondered just what he would do to teach that lesson. “Not today, though. No, today I just wanna see you come.”

Her fingernails left little half-moon indents in his forearm. “Then don’t stop.”

He grinned in response, catching her eyes as he flicked his tongue against her clit. His hand moved between them and he slid a finger inside her as he continued to draw circles around the little bud. It made her whimper, jittering hands moving to tangle in his hair again.

“More.” The word left her lips before she could stop it. For a moment she feared he would do the opposite, continue to tease her and draw this out for as long as he possibly could.

A second finger entered her, pushing in and curling up to coax at the exact spot she liked to be touched. It was as though he already knew her inside and out, as though his mind was paces ahead of her. Had her figured out before she could even fully register what he was doing. Her clit was sucked between his lips, his teeth barely grazing it but making her scream all the same.

That was it, that was exactly what she needed. That pressure, the way his fingers curled against her. She was going to explode from all the pressure and need building up inside of her.

Her eyes closed and she could see color behind her eyelids. It was all swirling, dancing along with the movements that were going to drive her over the edge. Those galaxies in his black eyes had finally consumed her and she was going to become a nebula. Be the swirling color in his abyss.

“Open your eyes, sugar.” His voice pulled her from the stars, grounded her in the moment. Brought her back to him.

Her eyes hesitantly greeted the light of the room, still half lidded as she moaned and twisted at his touch.

“You’re about to explode, aren’t you?” That seemed to amuse him to no end and she could only nod and whimper in response.

Their eyes met and he picked up his pace. Thrust those fingers into her furiously as he licked and sucked and consumed her. She was his now, completely and undeniably. Whatever magic he was working on her was dragging her toward a peak. Placing her amongst the stars to writhe and burn forever.

“Come for me, Harley.” His breath was humid against her searing flesh and she hissed at the sensation.

His fingers continued to work within her, made colors dance in her vision even with her eyes open. Those fathomless galaxies in his eyes caught her and she couldn’t look away. Could only let him continue to build that fire, to let her shriek and writhe.

The other hand moved to her clit, his thumb rubbing insistently as he rushed forward to kiss her hard. “Harley, come for me right fucking now.”

And she was powerless to resist. Color burst and faded around her as she screamed into his mouth. She was a nebula, a star burning up in some lost galaxy. He had taken her power and amplified it, turned her into a black hole. For a moment she lost herself there, allowed that color and the waves that ripped through her to overtake her completely.

When she finally came back to herself she could hardly breathe. He was grinning at her, seeming completely pleased with his work. For a moment he pulled away, drew a small keening noise from her throat at the sudden lack of contact.

And then she heard the sound of his fly unzipping and knew what was coming next. It gave her a whole new wave of anticipation as she watched him drop his pants and boxers to the floor.

“You’re clean, ain’t ya?” The thought didn’t seem to have occurred to him before and it took her by surprise.

“Uh, yeah.” She got up on her knees and moved over to meet him at the edge of the bed. “And you don’t have to worry about me getting pregnant either.”

“Good.”

For a moment she allowed herself to appreciate the sight of him, all lean muscle and hard flesh. This man is exactly what she had been waiting for, she realized. This moment had been building between them since the moment they first met and now she was all the more taken with him.

Resting her palm against the scarred flesh of his cheek, she can’t help imagining what her own scars will look like one day. How they would compliment each other forever. Her arms wrapped around his neck and she surged forward to kiss him. Pulled him back on the bed and pressed her skin completely against his.

He followed her down with fervor, laid her beneath him and lined them up chest to chest and hip to him. Matching. One flesh. Two halves torn apart and now roughly stitched back together. They were made for this, for each other.

Spreading her legs, she gazed up at him and felt her breathing hitch as his hard length pressed against her thigh.

Tongue snaking across his lips, he took in every inch of her before aligning their hips. The head of his cock pressed against her entrance and she felt her muscles fizzle with electricity.

“Do I have to beg you to fuck me, too?” she teased, lifting her hips to take him in ever so slightly.

His breath came out in a rush and he shook his head, though he didn’t actually seem to be denying the question.

“Because I will.” A grin spread across her face as her heels dug into the mattress. “I need you to fuck me. Just like you’ve been promising you would. Please, J, I need you inside of me.”

“Ah, fuck, sguar.”

One slick movement had him filling her almost completely and she cried out as her body adjusted to accommodate him. His head bowed and he groaned at how well she held him. The way the muscles tensed and quivered as they were finally joined.

Her legs wrapped around his waist, urging him to move and he didn’t waste a moment before sliding almost completely out of her and filling her again.

“Fuck!” The curse flew from her lips and she caught the way he smirked.

Together they set a pace, their hips crashing together and drifting apart only to meet again just as quickly. Her hands held his shoulders for support as she rose to meet his every thrust. Took every inch of him that she could before sinking back onto the mattress.

Her heels dug into his back with every movement, her breath becoming ragged and desperate as she once again began her ascent into the stars. His hips collided with hers, almost painfully hard and she cursed and pulled him into her further.

There was nothing gentle now, just desperate movement and nails raking flesh. His teeth dug into her neck and she ran her claws down his back hard enough to make him moan. While he was learning everything about her, she was determined to figure out exactly what made him tick as well.

They became an ocean. The two of them forming ever-crashing waves in a storm. He was breathing hard and groaning profanities in her ear and she ate up every word, every sound. Her fingers traced across the scars on his cheeks, threaded through his hair as she pulled him down to kiss her.

His arms wrapped around her in response, pulling her up with him until she was straddling him with her legs still wrapped around him as he sat back on his heels.. She pulled back and settled on her knees, before sinking down on him again and rocking against him. Every inch of him filled her and his fingers dug into her hips hard enough to bruise. It made her scream and curse and ride him harder.

That was exactly what he wanted, she realized. He needed that blistering pace and all her curses and screams. She gave it to him in spades, threw her head back and swore at the heavens as they moved together.

This was a game, one she was determined to win. Though she was still in the process of learning his strategy, she knew the rules. Knew how to play him right into her hand with the right roll of her hips. Each time she took him in, he hit that spot that his fingers had so expertly found and she ground against him to maintain the contact.

His hand found her hair and he pulled hard enough to make her shriek in a mix of surprise and pain. Dark eyes swept across her chest, up to her bruised neck, and as she sunk onto him again his mouth latched onto her jawline. Moved down to her neck, pulls her back to reach her chest. His breathing was furious and she wondered just how close he was

Her fingers moved between them to find her clit and she rubbed furiously, knowing she could end it for both of them quickly if he allowed her to. When his teeth dug into the flesh of her breast, she pulled back in a rush. The sudden lack of contact left her feeling hollow, but he was on her again in moments.

He clicked his tongue and pushed her onto her back before following her down.

Again he entered her, the sensation making her hiss and dig her nails into his shoulders. He growled in response, low and predatory. Resumed the pace they had and made her see those hints of colors igniting on the edge of her vision.

This time he took the liberty of reaching a hand between them and traced circles over her clit with his thumb. She gasped and undulated beneath him, wrapped her legs around his hips and rose to meet each thrust. As her heels dug into his back, he swore viciously and rubbed harder at her clit.

Gasping, for air, she watched colors dance and explode behind her eyes. She was going to follow them again, going to drown in this ocean that they had discovered together. Release was close now, so close that she shook with each movement. The mere brush of his fingers had her crying out and clinging to him for all she was worth. 

He seemed to notice that he had her on the ropes now and she wasn’t certain, but she could have sworn he laughed. But that could have just as easily been the breath catching in his throat as her hips rose and she held tight there to grind against him.

It had built so suddenly, almost imperceptibly, and now it was all she could think about. Could only work toward that blinding light and heavy breathing. Her gasps became increasingly high, those little keening noises followed every breath as she rose and fell and…

She screamed, clung to him for all she was worth as she became a supernova. It was all color was blinding, her muscles spasming in waves that shook every bit of her being. And he continued to ride her all through it, gasped and groaned and huffed her name against her skin as he followed her straight into oblivion. 

Together they sparked and burned, cursing and breathing too hard. It felt as though Harley’s mind had been ripped clean in half. She could have stayed in orbit with him forever, fused together to become a star and burn eternal.

And slowly she began to descend. Became aware of his body lying flush against her, muscles spent and exhausted. The mattress creaked beneath her as she adjusted slightly and ran a hand through his tangle of green curls. Slowly breath returned to her lungs, her limbs still jittery from exertion. 

Eventually he rolled off of her, lay on his back staring up at the ceiling as though he had just had an out of body experience. Found god somewhere among those stars they had created and barely managed to come back to earth. With a groan, she rolled onto her side and slung an arm over his stomach to pull close to him.

He propped himself up on his elbow before she had properly managed to get close to him and they ended up lying chest to chest facing each other. 

“You look like somebody just fucked you hard.” His breath was still coming too quick and she couldn’t help smiling. “It’s a good look for you.”

There was no stopping the laugh that escaped her as she rolled onto her back. He followed, a hand moving to clear the hair away from her face and hopelessly attempting to smooth the absolute mess it had become. 

“I don’t think I have limbs anymore.” She giggled, but couldn’t get her body to cooperate when she tried to move. 

“No?” That hand on her hair paused and she shook her head.

“You’ve turned me into jello and I need to stay here forever now.”

He laughed, another of those quiet chuckles that she recognized the rarity of. “Fucked you so good you’re talking nonsense. Apparently I can stay out of practice for years and nothing changes.”

Raising an eyebrow, she fixed him with a skeptic look. “Years?”

A simple shrug was all he gave her in response, so she pressed on.

“Seriously?” With a trembling hand she reached up and brushed her fingers along his scarred cheek. “Years?”

“Yes, years.” He waved a hand dismissively. “I’ve usually got more important shit to do. And, in case you haven’t noticed, uh, everyone else seems to be scared of me.”

Rolling her eyes at the very idea, Harley wrapped her arms around him and pulled him down to her. “Just means I get you all to myself.”

His nose brushed against her hair and he pressed his lips to the shell of her ear. “You probably would anyway. I’ve killed for you, sugar. You’re stuck with me now.”

That made her pause, ice in her veins suddenly replacing all of the warmth he had created within her. "What?"

"The man that had that done to your face, the guy that paid for the job, me and the boys took out his little operation today." It was so passive, so matter-of-fact. This wasn't a crime to him, it was business. Sometimes she forgot just who he was until he laid something like this out in front of her.

And yet, somehow, it didn't bother her. Didn't even phase her once she realized what he was talking about. The warmth returned, melted all of the ice and had her nuzzling against his neck. "Thank you."

Smiling, he kissed her forehead. "Anything for you, sugar."

And then he disentangled their limbs and was on his feet, moving to gather his wet clothes. The sudden lack of contact had her feeling put out, and she pouted when he looked back at her.

"Don't give me that look, Harley. I've gotta work."

When she flopped back onto the bed, her muscles still too heavy to move, she heard him sigh. Still his footsteps circled about the room, moving to the bathroom to hang up his wet clothes, moving to the closet to gather something fresh to wear.

And then the mattress creaked and he settled behind her, wrapped an arm around her hips and pulled her close. "The boys were talking about getting pizza before you distracted me. You want some?"

Nodding, Harley burrowed against his chest. "Yeah. I'm starving."

"Which is funny, considering the way you devoured an entire box of cheez-its." He laughed when she opened her mouth as though scandalized.

"It was not an entire box," she grumbled.

Yawning, she buried her face against the pillow and closed her eyes.

He sighed, mussing her hair before getting to his feet. "So I take it you'll want me to wake you up when dinner gets here?"

"Mmmhmm."

Pulling on fresh boxers and a dark pair of slacks, he turned to ask her what she wanted on her pizza, only to find her already asleep. It made him smile despite himself, despite his aversion to warmth that seeing her completely at peace filled him with. His eyes took in every inch of her, the hickeys he had covered her in and the traces of their mixed juices on her thighs. His girl, his Harley, completely at peace and unaware of the way the world was about to burn around her.

He dressed in one of his spare shirts, not bothering with a jacket as he slipped out of the room and shut the door behind him. It surprised him how stiff he still felt, the way his muscles seemed to object to each movement. Called him back to the bed and the girl sound asleep there.

And for once in his life, he gave in. Went back and lay next to her. His eyes shut reluctantly and when unconsciousness took him it was completely dreamless.


	7. Bottom of the Deep Blue Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which plans are made and Harley is in over her head.

"Welcome to my cage, little lover  
Attempt to rearrange with you, baby  
Still don't know your name, Miss Honey  
Let's go up in flames, pretty lady."

~MISSIO "Bottom of the Deep Blue Sea"

///

There were knives cutting Harley's skin, rending flesh from bone and slicing deep into her face. She screamed and fought and clawed and cried. They didn't stop, seemed to be coming from everywhere. So much pain she thought she would drown in it, so much blood and…shit were they scraping bone now?

She screamed harder, kicked her legs and fought at hands. Hands all over her. Trying to hold her down, trying to push her back and cut her further. Her entire body rocked and then there were voices, yelling and angry in her ear.

"Hey! HEY! STOP IT!"

J's voice. Were they cutting him too? Oh, fuck, what if they had been attacked? What if someone had found the safe house?

Those hands shoved her hard and she gasped for breath.

Harley woke up screaming.

Mind reeling, she tried to take in her surroundings, but could focus on nothing as adrenaline boiled in her veins. There were still hands on her and she tried to tear away with a cry. Her feet kicked blindly and above her she heard a familiar snarl.

"Would you stop?" J sounded impatient and angry.

Breathing hard, her eyes looked blindly about the room just barely taking in blurs of color and the outline of shapes. And then his face, teeth barred and eyes dark.

She gasped in a breath as she realized that his were the hands she had been feeling. Both of her arms were restrained against her chest and he was struggling to sit on her legs. As the beating of her heart started to slow, she realized that it had all been a dream. The knives and the hands trying to rip away at her flesh, it had all been in her mind.

Taking in slow, shuddering breaths, she began to comprehend the world around her.

"You awake now?" The relief was clear in his tone as he let go of her hands and moved to kneel beside her.

For a moment she laid there, each breath making her increasingly aware of herself. Of the sweat that drenched her body and made the sheets cling to her naked flesh. Glancing over at J, she took a long breath and rested her head heavily against the pillow.

"There were knives." Her throat ached from screaming. "I could feel them all over."

Another breath and she willed herself to sit up, only managing to prop herself up with her elbows.

Beside her, she could hear J working his scars as he stared at her. His face was unreadable, but she sensed he recognized her predicament. That expression was far too passive for anything else.

"That'll happen, sugar." Wetting his lips, he shrugged. "You, uh, alright?"

She nodded first, but knew it was a lie. Shaking her head no, she managed to sit up properly. "My head…it feels like I was hit by a bus."

Another passive shrug seemed to be his best response. "Yeah, that happens too."

"Are you a professional on this now?" Irritation was clear in her tone, but he didn't seem to notice.

Instead, he rose from the bed and stretched. His joints popped and cracked with each movement, making Harley cringe with how painful it sounded. "There's a reason I don't sleep anymore. Not much, anyway. Ironic, though, considering that was the best night's sleep I've had in a really long time."

Her stomach turned anxiously. "Did I wake you?"

Waving a hand, he shook his head and laughed. "Nah, I've been awake for hours. I only came back up here because your screaming was bothering the boys."

Harley frowned. "Sorry."

His eyes rolled impatiently. "Don't apologize, honey. It doesn't matter. I think the weirdest part of all of this, for them, is having a lady around."

That brought a smile to her face and immediately she began to relax. "Are they years out of practice too?"

The look he gave her was downright insulted, but there was humor in his eyes. "Even worse, they pay for it."

Lifting her arms above her head, Harley stretched and tried to pop a particularly stubborn kink in her back. "We've already discussed this, puddin', there's no shame in sex work."

"Speaking of, I hope that ten grand I gave you was enough to cover last night." Winking at her, he moved back toward the door.

When silence followed his remark, stretched thick and angry between them, he turned back to notice her frowning.

It had been a joke and she knew damn well that it had. Just like so many of the other ridiculous things he said. But it bothered her somehow, made the night they had spent together feel cheap and soiled. Ridiculous as it seemed, finally sleeping with him had quenched some deep need inside of her. She had only begun to learn about him, but being intimate felt like a step in the right direction. To have him brush it off, even in jest, felt like an insult to her ego.

"Your petals are drooping, sweetheart." It seemed to agitate him and she glanced up to see how utterly confused he looked by her pouting. "What's eatin' at you? It really was just a dream, you know?"

Nodding, she took a patient breath. "I would… I… Don't…" With another breath she tried again. "Was fucking me really that cheap to you?"

He blanched, blinking at her in confusion as his mind wrapped around the question. "Ten grand ain't cheap, honey."

Her face screwed up in frustration, but she tried to be patient with him. "You know that's not what I mean. I… please don't…"

Again she trailed off, shaking her head at how frustrating it could be to confront him about anything. It was as though he knew exactly how to make her lose her train of thought and become uncomfortably self-conscious.

"You don't think it's funny that I compared you to a whore, do ya?" He grinned knowingly and chuckled. "I didn't mean it. I promise."

She sighed, throwing her hands out to her sides in defeat. "I know you didn't and that's the worst part. Somehow that joke was so not funny that you managed to go straight into offensive."

Sucking at his scars, he raised his eyebrows and pulled that face that mocked even the idea of innocence. "I told you, you're too proud for sex work. And at the time you didn't believe me. But the minute I even implied that I was paying you to fuck me your feathers got all ruffled."

"And I suppose this is your way of proving a point, is it?" Her arms crossed across her chest in defiance.

"I really just like getting a rise out of you." Smirking, he came to stand near the bed. "But next time you so much as think I view you as a whore I want you to look down at all the pretty colors I painted you last night and remember why I gave 'em to you."

Snorting, she rolled her eyes. "You mean to tell me it wasn't just the heat of passion?"

His hand shot out and wrapped around the back of her neck to grip her hair, his face suddenly serious. "You're mine Harley. Just mine. And I'm making sure you don't forget."

She couldn't help smiling at that. Smiling so hard that she was afraid she would start laughing. It wasn't that she didn't believe him. That grip and those eyes let her know just how serious he was. Made her feel slightly uneasy and flattered all at once.

The hand in her hair urged her head up and he frowned at her. "What? You don't think I'm being serious?"

Still biting back laughter, she met his eyes. "I know you're being serious. I just don't know how you think I could possibly forget how much you like me when you basically set up your very own witness protection program to keep me safe."

For a moment he almost looked upset with her, but then he threw back his head and cackled. His hand disentangled from her hair, moving to smooth over his mop of green curls. "You always get me when I least expect it."

Again he began to move toward the door before pausing with his hand on the handle. "I keep forgetting to tell you. Zak packed you a bag from your apartment. There's a big suitcase in the closet that should have some clothes and all of your important lady supplies."

Snorting, she glanced over at the closet. "Lady products?"

"Yeah, like that soap."

Skepticism shown clearly on her face as she slid out of bed and went over to the closet, feeling excitement bloom within her when she noticed the suitcase on the floor. "Since when is soap specifically a lady product?"

"Since it started smelling like a fresh bouquet." Wrinkling his nose, he turned the doorknob.

Harley grinned, unzipping the bag and beginning to explore its contents. "You mean you don't want to smell like…" She found her bottle of body wash and read the label. "Cherry blossom and hibiscus?"

"Nope." The door creaked on its hinges as he opened it.

"Well, it's a significant improvement from gasoline and dynamite."

But the door snapped shut behind him before she had finished speaking, though she swore she heard him laughing as he went.

Gathering a change of clothes and her toiletries, she went into the bathroom. The idea of seeing her reflection again had her heart pounding in her chest and she tried to avoid looking in the bathroom mirror. Despite all of the validation J had given her the night before, despite knowing that he still found her attractive even with her face stitched together, she still felt insecure about seeing it herself.

This shower went far better than the last she had attempted to take. There were no tears or hopeless sobbing, just the steady stream of water and the smell of her shampoo. It left her feeling better than she had in days, weeks even.

Once she emerged, she took her time getting ready. Dressed carefully in the black jeans that had been packed for her and a red blouse. When Zak packed her bag, he seemed to have just thrown things in at random. If she was going to have time off of work, time to start to feel like herself again, she was going to look as nice as she possibly could. This was the best she could do, given the options.

The mirror was still fogged as she dressed, but when it came time to brush her hair she realized she would need to use it. Heaving a sigh, she toweled fog off of the mirror and braced herself for the sight of those awful lacerations and the stitches that held them together.

Still not pretty, not by a long shot, but the reflection was less off-putting than it had been the day before. It pleased her to find them looking less swollen, which she was certain the shower had helped with.

Remembering Zak's advice, she searched the cupboards and found antibiotic cream, which she applied with care. It was a painful process, one that had her wincing with each brush of fingers against flesh. But she felt better for having done it, found herself moving her mouth and exploring the mobility that extra bit of hydration gave her. There still wasn't much, her muscles protested whenever she tried to work her jaw, but she was making progress slowly. That in and of itself felt like a good sign.

It was with measured disappointment that she realized she didn't have any make-up. Apparently when Zak had packed her bag, he had neglected to realize how important it was to her daily regimen. Not that she could blame him. The only person she could even imagine taking her makeup into account was J, and even then the odds seemed unlikely.

Frowning at her reflection, she realized she also lacked a hair dryer. She was going to have to make a list of things for one of the boys to acquire for her, seeing as she very much doubted J would be up for a shopping trip. As amusing as it would be to see him wandering around the store in full warpaint and his purple suit, the likelihood of him getting arrested seemed to throw a wrench in the gears.

Gathering her dirty clothes, she brought them into the bedroom and threw them in the closet with her suitcase before heading downstairs.

There were hushed voices coming from down the hall that stopped as soon as the door whined on its hinges. Cautiously she stepped into the hall to find two men she did not recognize standing in the doorway at the end of the hall. Both of them were built like tanks, all broad shoulders and muscle. Had it not been for the way they both seemed shocked and borderline intimidated at her very presence, she would have found them almost menacing.

"Do either of you know where the Joker went?" There was a certain power to that question, something about it that made her feel like she had the upper hand. But that could have been the way they both seemed to grow pale as she asked it.

"The boss is downstairs," the taller of the pair said, not quite meeting her eyes.

With each passing second it became increasingly apparent that her very presence made them uncomfortable. For the life of her she could not understand why two men twice her size seemed to view her as some sort of bomb ready to blow both of their faces off.

And then she heard it, the sound of Zak's voice echoing up the stairs. He wasn't speaking loudly, must have been standing right near the staircase for that hushed congratulatory tone to reach her.

"You made her scream so loud you interrupted last night's poker tournament."

J's laughter followed, a great manic cackle that echoed up the stairs and made both men go rigid.

It hit her with all the subtlety of a bus then. Those men were intimidated by her because they knew she had slept with their boss. Not only that, she had cuts to match his scars and neither had any idea how she had gotten them. For all they knew, those cuts could be fresh. Maybe even from last night. And they seemed to very much believe their employer had given them to her.

Part of her wondered just what she had gotten into with J, if he really was the type of man to give his passing fancy a permanent smile just to mark her as his. Yet, she felt a surge of superiority with the power she now held over these men. If the Joker was the king of this castle, that undoubtedly made her the queen. There was a sense of pride in that, something sparking and coming to life deep within her that she wasn't entirely certain she understood yet. But whatever it was, she was going to play it for all she was worth.

Grinning hard enough to pull at her stitches, she bounced on her toes. "Thanks, boys."

Neither of them quite knew what to make of her and it made her feel completely enigmatic. There was an extra sway in her step as she descended the stairs and swaggered into the kitchen.

J was standing against the counter with Zak beside him, smirking as he glanced expectantly between her and the coffee maker. She sashayed by and gave him a peck on the cheek before moving to the coffee maker and immediately prepping a pot.

After going four days without coffee, it felt like the most important substance on the planet. Her fingers twitched excitedly as she took a filter from the counter and began filling it with grounds.

J cleared his throat and Harley spared a glance over her shoulder to find his eyes looking exceptionally dark. "What was, uh, that for, sweetheart?"

Pulling a face, she began filling the pot with water to pour into the reservoir. "What?"

"That little kisssss." He drew the word out too long in irritation.

A shuffling across the room drew her attention away from him for a moment as she realized Zak was taking his leave. Emptying the water, she hit the button to brew coffee before turning her attention to J.

"It was…it was a kiss." She wasn't entirely certain how to respond to him, so she tried to make her words seem as innocent as possible. "According to Zak the entire house heard us going at it last night, so I assumed they all realized our relationship."

Lowering his head, he stared at her cynically. It made her skin crawl and she took a step back, realizing suddenly that she had broken some unspoken rule.

"And what relationship is that?" It sounded like he was testing her.

Rage started to mix with confusion, her hands curling into fists at her sides as she met his eyes defiantly. "The kind of relationship where you can fuck me and then pretend like there is nothing between us, apparently."

Stringy green curls swayed about his face as he shook his head. "No, no, no, Harley, you don't get it."

Huffing, she stepped forward with her chin raised. "And what exactly do I NOT GET?"

He was on her in a flash as soon as her voice began to rise. Suddenly a gloved hand was covering her mouth and he was standing flush against her to keep her body pinned against the counter. Fires sparked in his black eyes and she knew she had made a mistake in yelling.

"You. Do. Not. Talk to me that way in front of the boys, understand?" Placing his other hand on top of her head, he gripped her hair and nodded for her. "You seem to always forget that every single one of my boys is a criminal. They start to see weakness in me and they will throw me to the dogs. I keep them in line with fear and damn good pay. The minute they see you walking around like you own the place and kissing me like I'm some fucking lap dog, they'll get ideas. They'll realize that they can use you to get to me. The mob already realized that and we saw how that ended."

"But Zak said they already heard us last night." Beneath his hand, a blush started to color her face.

His grip on her cheeks tightened and she whimpered.

Immediately he let up, but his eyes still held hers in warning. "They know I fucked you, but they don't know why. For all they know I could have hired you to keep me entertained for a while. That I gave you that charming grin of yours, but the money is good enough that you ain't gonna back out now."

Glaring at him, she tried to escape his hand. He held her tight and shook his head, shushing her under his breath. "I know you don't like people thinking I'm paying you. But I can't let them think anything else right now. You and I? We both know the truth, and that's what matters." Tongue snaking across his lips he tugged at her hair and tilted her head up to look him right in the eyes. "I like when you give me hell, sugar. I like that you call me on my shit and look at me without an ounce of fear. I really do. But you can't do it in front of the boys. Never. And you can't kiss me in front of them, not like you did a minute ago. Not yet, anyway."

Understanding began to set in then, the dynamics of the Joker's "business" starting to make sense. He may have been the king, but there was always someone out to steal the throne. This whole charade he was setting up for her made their relationship less obvious, made it seem like he always held the upper hand, even with her.

Nodding of her own accord to show understanding, she gave him a pleading look and spoke against his palm. "When?"

He raised an eyebrow at her and removed his hand from her mouth. "What?"

"When?" she repeated. "When can I stop being a weakness?"

A grin took his face then, downright sinister and yet completely pleased. "As soon as you prove you can fend for yourself. The boys have to be scared of you."

Curiosity got the best of her, made her will to prove herself even stronger. "How?"

Shaking his head, he laughed and stepped back from her, ruffling her damp hair as he went. "We'll figure it out eventually, sugar. In the meantime, try to lay low and don't leave my sight unless it's to go to our room. Nobody here is going to hurt you, so don't worry about locking the door or anything stupid like that. They're all good ones, but we can't stay much longer and you absolutely have to play by the rules once we leave."

Harley narrowed her eyes, suddenly feeling completely up in arms. This place had only been her home for a day of her conscious memory, but she liked it. It seemed like a nice reprieve from whatever it was J did in the outside world.

Frowning, she crossed her arms over her chest. "Where are we going?"

"Probably back to the warehouse." He gave her a nonchalant shrug and eyed the coffee maker impatiently.

As though sensing his stare, it beeped happily to signal it was done brewing. Relief washed over Harley as he stepped away and began filling two cups with black liquid. Without bothering to add any cream or sugar, he handed her a cup that she took with a smile that was less than genuine.

It didn't seem fair. The completely childish thought occurred to her over and over. The moment their relationship began to make sense he turned it on its head again. Just when she was starting to adapt to the idea of this being her new home it was taken away. It always felt like a game with him, no matter what she did or how well she believed she grasped what was going on, he suddenly changed the rules.

Staring down at her coffee, she sighed in defeat. "Why can't we stay here?"

Licking his lips, he caught that disappointment in her eyes. "Because this place belongs to the strategists."

"Who?"

Casually he leaned against the counter and took a swig of his coffee. "The two meatheads upstairs. This is their place. They were nice enough to let us stay while you got back on your feet, but things are about to pick up and me being here is a risk."

Running her fingers along the countertop, Harley bit her lip. "I just like it here."

"Thought you would." He sighed, setting his coffee cup down and stepping toward her. "I bought you as much time as I could here. We've probably got another night here, and then we need to move."

"To a warehouse?" Disappointment saturated her tone and she took a sip of steaming coffee.

"One with a harbor view, if that sweetens the deal." Draining his mug, he moved back to the coffee maker for more. "Isn't that like the artist dream, anyway? Living in some weird old building and fixing it up to make it home? You should be excited."

Grinning over the rim of her mug, Harley found the weight of disappointment beginning to lessen. "Are you going to let me fix it up?"

He pulled a face and shook his head. "Not likely."

That was the answer she had been expecting. It made her laugh, her hand smoothing over the off-blonde hair that continuously tried to fall into her face. "Worth a shot."

Given the way J seemed to go through hideouts, it seemed incredibly unlikely they would be in one warehouse long enough for her to even attempt to make it feel like home. She thought about saying as much, but footsteps neared and she occupied herself with coffee as one of the strategists came into the kitchen. He looked her over with hesitation before looking warily at J.

"Can I talk to you in the other room, boss?" His voice was gruff and quiet.

Immediately J's posture changed. Gone was the relaxed hip against the counter, replaced by hunched shoulders and twitchy hands. "Yeah."

Dark eyes glanced over at Harley before the two men stepped around the corner. Their hushed voices carried on the air and Harley strained to hear what they were saying. Tried to quiet her breath as she shuffled toward the edge of the counter.

"…they're saying Batman brought him back." That was the strategist's voice. "Harvey Dent won't confirm it, but the mob knows. They want to take you up on your offer."

"About damn time. They put any restrictions on it? Ask for specifics?" She could hear him worrying his scars between thoughts.

"No, boss. Their guy just said to make it quick." Feet shuffled and Harley took a careful step back to make sure they didn't catch her eavesdropping.

"Make it quick?" The Joker sounded amused at the very idea. "Why would we do that?"

The strategist chuckled. "Because they're trying to arrest the entire mob on a RICO case."

"Are they really?" Even without seeing him, Harley could tell he was grinning. "Then we'd better get on it. You know who is hearing the case?"

"Surrillo."

Joints cracked and popped loudly, making Harley flinch. "Good. And when are they hearing the case?"

Just a moment of hesitation. "Tomorrow morning."

"Lots of time, then. Do we know if those Batman wannabes with the guns are still around?"

Harley felt her throat tighten. Batman wannabes? What would J need them for? She remembered how passionately he had spoken against the caped crusader, how disgusted he had been by her painting with his light in it.

The strategist answered almost immediately as though reading a script. "Brian Douglas. 35. Lives over in midtown. You need him?"

Cackling in delight, the Joker seemed to bounce on his toes. "I do keep you around for a reason, don't I, Eddie?" He laughed again and cleared his throat, his voice seeming to drop an octave. "You know what to do."

"Yeah, boss."

Moving back to the counter, Harley finished her coffee and poured another cup. Though she had no idea who Brian Douglas was, she felt that something very bad was about to happen to him. The way J had been talking to the strategist – Eddie – made her uncomfortable. It seemed that whatever he was up to had crossed from robbing banks to rip off the mob into something much more sinister.

Back in her apartment he had once said that he had plans for the city, but she had no idea what those plans actually entailed. Suddenly she was unsure she even wanted to know, though her choices seemed limited.

With her mouth pressed into a tight line of disapproval, she began rummaging through the fridge to find some creamer. To her surprise and delight, she found a fresh quart of half and half. A quick check of the cupboards told her there was no sugar, but the cream made the coffee exponentially better.

Relieved to have something to lessen the bitter taste, she took a drink and decidedly ignored the blooming dread in her stomach. The Joker was up to something, something big and potentially horrifying and she was going to be right in the middle of it. Completely unable to escape because he was probably the only person capable of keeping her safe from the mob. Though she was nearly certain his intentions regarding her were only the best, it was very likely that Gotham was going to suffer under his hand.

Despite all of his passionate talks about politics and society and leveling the playing field, none of it seemed like something he was actually capable of. At least, not something he would actually do. Clearly she had underestimated that determination of his. It all seemed like such a good idea in theory. But the practice…she wasn't certain how he would go about putting it into practice.

Taking a determined breath, she tried to calm the rapid beating of her heart. It didn't feel real, none of this felt real. Maybe if she allowed herself enough distance from it all it could be ignored.

Nonsense. That was utter bullshit and she knew it. Not only was it bullshit, it was downright unhealthy to even think that way. Whatever the Joker was up to was going to be a very real part of her life and she would have to face it as it came. He would keep her safe from the chaos, protect her from the storm he had brewing, but that didn't make it any less of a reality.

"Sounds like the fun's about to start, eh, sugar?" Purple-clad arms wrapped around her waist and held her tightly against him. The contact made her gasp and his giggles tickled her ear. "You have fun eavesdropping?"

When his grip tightened she squirmed, suddenly feeling uncomfortable being so close to him. There was power behind those arms, clearly meant to hold her in place rather than pull her close. Carefully she set her coffee cup on the counter and tried to shift away from him, but he held her tight. Even when she tried to turn and face him he would not allow her to budge.

"Are you angry with me?" Her voice shook as she asked and his breath came out in a rush against her neck.

"Why would I be angry?" Behind her, he moved his hips against the small of her back. It made her tense. If she wasn't allowed to peck him on the cheek when there was a chance the boys may see, she didn't understand why he was allowed to come on to her in the kitchen. "You just wanted to be in on the fun."

"What are you planning, J?" Her hands covered his and she tried to break his grip.

His fists curled against her stomach and she stopped trying to fight immediately. "Don't worry about it, sweetheart. You'll find out soon enough."

"You're being awfully cryptic…"

"You wanna help, sugar?" His voice seemed off, as though he wasn't listening to what she was saying, but intended to deliver a speech.

Painted lips pressed against the shell of her ear and she could feel him smile against her skin. It made her gasp and squirm against him. Holding her like a vice, he splayed his hands over her stomach.

"I don't think I can help." Harley's voice was shaking.

"Sure you can." One of those hands moved up to tilt her head as his tongue swept up her neck. "You said you wanted to stop being a weakness."

Her knees went weak at his touch, despite her best efforts to remain aloof. "I…I thought we couldn't be affectionate in front of the boys."

"No, sweetheart, you can't be affectionate in front of the boys. Affection is a way to claim ownership, you know? When you do it, you are showing all of the boys that I can be put under someone's thumb. Under your thumb. When I do it to you…" Teeth sunk into her neck and she hissed through her teeth. "I'm marking my territory."

Again she squirmed in his grasp as she realized that was why he had covered her in hickeys. Because that was what this all boiled down to, her being his territory. That didn't sit well, not at all. The last time she had allowed a man to claim her as his and demand she bend to his will, it had ended with all of her dreams crashing around her. This would not be a repeat. She refused to ever make that mistake again.

"Is that what this is?" Her voice trembled, but she pushed his face away from her skin. Tried to breathe again. "Am I only your property? Was fucking me your way of claiming ownership? Do you think I'm just…just putty that you can mold and push around until I do what you want?"

Behind her, he stiffened and let up his grip only to spin her around to face him. "Don't be fucking stupid, Harley."

"You keep saying that." Though her voice never grew louder, her tone became steel. "I don't think you realize how insulting it is."

Dark eyes bore into hers, forced her to take a step back. And then he frowned, his eyes softening. "Fuck, sugar. It's not like that. I just thought you would know better by now."

Fists balling at her sides, she threw her hands up in frustration. "I don't know how I'm supposed to know better when you really fucking love to talk down to me."

Heaving a sigh, he leaned heavily against the counter with flat palms.

"I like getting a rise out of you, sugar." His voice lacked its usual lilt and humor. "You've got fire in you and the tiniest spark from me can set you off. I would be lying if I said I didn't find it downright hilarious. But I'm not trying to make you think less of yourself. I'm not trying to tame you or domesticate you or any of that bullshit I can tell you're afraid of. When I say you're mine, I mean I want to be that only man that touches you. That I get a little part of you that no one else does. You're mine…just like I'm yours."

Harley's insides froze, her heart seeming to pause as though confused as she stared at him. Had he really just said that? Had he admitted that she had the kind of hold on him that he had on her? Though it did not excuse the way he had been talking down to her, it put things into perspective.

Suddenly she knew without a doubt that his insistence to separate their private life from the image he projected to his men really was a way to avoid showing weakness. Because she was a weakness, really she was. In that moment she knew without a doubt that she had him wrapped around her finger. That they could fight and bicker and it only made him appreciate her spark. And she didn't get it before, hadn't understood until now. They could not act that way around his hired hands because they would see just how much he enjoyed it, but only from her. They could use her against him so easily because he would burn the world just to get her back.

Maybe she really had been stupid to not see it sooner.

Silently she watched him lick his lips as his fingers spread like spider legs on the counter. "You gonna say something, Harley?"

Letting out a long breath, she shook her head. "I really don't appreciate being talked down to. I know you do it to piss me off, but sometimes…it can hurt, you know? But I…I only get so upset because you have such a hold on me. I want to make sure you think of me the way I think of you."

With a slow blink, he turned his head to catch her eyes. And then he smiled, wide and shark-like as he threw back his head and laughed.

"It's not funny!" she huffed, a surge of frustration shooting through her.

That manic laughter stopped, but the smile never faded. "Oh, but it is, sugar, it really is. This whole situation is so fucked up. What is it about you? You frustrate me to no end and somehow I enjoy every second of it."

Harley frowned, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Once again, his game had turned into a rollercoaster, one that she feared she would fall out of before the ride was over.

Pressing her lips in a tight line, she traced the spots on the countertop with her finger. "Did you mean it?"

The violent shake of his head had her wilting in place, but then he was on her. Fingers held the back of her neck and he kissed her hard on the mouth. Hard enough to make her wince at the way it pulled at her stitches, but she closed her eyes all the same. Melted against him and wrapped her arms around his neck for support.

"Is that really even a question anymore?" Warm breath washed over her face and she smiled.

"When you told me before that you didn't want me to kiss you to keep you from seeming weak, I thought you meant that having a girl made you seem like you were going soft." Swallowing hard against the constricting of her throat, she pressed her forehead against his. "I didn't realize you meant it honestly. That I really do make you weak because they could use me to get to you."

He grinned, a chuckle coursing up his throat as he stepped away from her. "And now you understand why the boys need to be afraid of you."

"So they don't try to fuck with me to get to you."

"That's my girl." A chaste kiss was pressed against her lips. "So what do you say? You wanna help?"

Nodding, she ran a thumb along the ridge of his scarred cheek. "I don't think I'll be much help, but I'll do my best."

He grinned and pulled her closer. "It's ain't like you're going to have to do anything difficult."

It seemed like a good idea, really it did. Of course J wouldn't ask her to do anything too difficult, not when he had hired hands that were far more equipped to do the work he required. In her mind, this was simply a charade to make the boys believe she was dangerous, a small task to show that she had worth and merit. That she was on their team.

Never once did she even consider that he would ask her to take a leap out of her comfort zone. Not as he touched up his facepaint in their room and pulled on his coat, not as they packed their bags and climbed into the black SUV waiting outside the safe house, not on the highways they crossed and city streets that passed, not even as they pulled up to an old slaughterhouse and one of the boys handed him a bag containing a video camera.

Only as they stepped inside and she saw skinned carcasses hanging from large, dangerous meat hooks did she even begin to question what they were doing.

"Why are we here?" she whispered, leaning close to J. "I thought we were going to a place by the docks."

But when his eyes met hers, she knew that wasn't J standing beside her.

The Joker put a heavy hand on the top of her head and patted her hair. "Patience, cupcake. This is a pit stop. You said you wanted to help."

It was strange how she was starting to notice it now, the switch from the man that made her feel safe to the criminal he could become. Part of it was the body language, the way his shoulders would hunch and his head cocked to the side in constant condescension. But most of it was in his eyes. A black hole appeared to suck up the galaxies she usually saw there and they glazed over like a predator that smelled blood and was poised for the kill.

He moved across the room on heavy legs with a sway that made the putrid air stand at attention. For a moment she lost sight of him and her heart rate began to pick up as she watched the carcasses swing as he passed. There was a growl somewhere across the room, the low rumble of something heavy being dragged across concrete.

And then she heard his voice, though it was somehow completely different than the voice she was used to.

"Bring him." Two words said low with saccharine sweetness.

That dragging sound came closer and Harley felt fear begin to crawl into the back of her mind and settle there. Another sound followed him too. Fabric on cement and muted screaming. Her breathing caught as her heart tried to escape the confines of her ribcage.

J sauntered into view, one arm pulling behind him slightly. There was something in his hand. A handle covered in chipped yellow paint. Both hands moved to grip that handle and in the near-darkness she watched as he lifted the object up onto his shoulder.

A sledgehammer.

He rested it there lazily, one hand keeping it balanced as the other wrapped around her shoulders. That hand spun her around, turned her to face two men dragging the struggling body of a man in a Batman costume.

A scream built in her throat, but she was too paralyzed in abject horror to so much as breathe. The hand on her shoulder tightened and J grinned like a fox.

"Your job," he said in that sickeningly sweet tone. "Is to make sure Brian here doesn't escape."

And then he swung that hammer down and rested its head on the cement in front of her.

"I'm not sure…" she began to say, but he shook his head and shushed her.

A gloved hand took hers and placed it on the handle of the hammer, his breath humid against her neck as he leaned close to her. "I'm sure you're gonna do just fine."

Shaking her head, Harley dropped the handle and stepped back, flinching as it rattled angrily against the cement floor on impact.

"Honey." His patience was clearly measured and she felt her skin crawl when he wrapped a hand around the back of her neck. "All you have to do is stand here and hold this hammer. And if he tries to get away, you make sure he doesn't try again. And if you don't…"

His head cocked to the side and she watched the indent of his cheek as he worried his scars. A warning, plain and simple.

Carefully she bent down, wrapped her hand around the handle and stood straight. Listened to the rattle of metal against cement as the head scraped against the floor.

"I don't have a choice, do I?" Tightness in her throat kept her voice hushed.

With a white-knuckle grip she held that yellow handle. Tried to breathe through the ache in her chest while he rubbed circles against her shoulder with his thumb.

As he leaned close again her entire body tensed. His lips pressed against the shell of her ear and she could feel the curl of his smile. It made her stomach turn.

When he spoke, his voice was impossibly low. "Uhhh, no."


	8. All Along the Watchtower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which J pushes Harley too far and the cracks begin to show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is another pretty graphically violent one. 
> 
> There will be a summary at the beginning of next chapter, just like before.

"No reason to get excited", the thief he kindly spoke  
"There are many here among us who feel that life is but a joke  
But you and I, we've been through that, and this is not our fate  
So let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late".

~ Jimi Hendrix "All Along the Watchtower"

///

Time passed in slow breaths. It crawled across her flesh with the beads of sweat that ran from her brow despite the freezing room. Became one with the moisture on her palms that made gripping the handle of that sledgehammer nearly impossible. No matter how many times she wiped her hands against the thighs of her jeans, it still tried to slip from her hot grasp.

Beside her, Zak stood at attention with hands folded behind his back and his face blank. He was a statue, stationed next to her simply to make sure she followed orders. Against the wall opposite them, two men stood on either side of the hostage - Brian, if Harley remembered right.

Somehow knowing his name made this even harder to stomach.

Brain was on his knees between the two men, hands tied behind his back and head hanging in defeat. A Batman cowl was on his head, obscuring most of his face, but Harley could tell he was frightened. The rapid rise and fall of his chest made her wonder if he was in pain, but the shaking of his limbs made her suspect terror was mostly to blame.

Not that she could hold that against him. Fear was making her body weak as well.

More than anything, she was terrified that at any moment Brian would get up and try to run away. That she would be forced to take action. As things stood, she wasn't entirely certain she could move, let alone act violently toward someone. The very idea made her stomach turn as though she would be sick. Especially since her only weapon was a sledgehammer.

There was no distance with that kind of weapon, no separation between action and target. When she had shot Victor Zsasz in self-defense, there had been no guilt. That man had gotten what was coming to him. She didn't have to guide the bullet, didn't have to feel it rip through his flesh and muscle. Simply had the satisfaction of seeing a stain of red before he had kicked her against the counter.

But this…this was worlds different. If Brian so much as stepped a toe out of line, she would be expected to act. She would have to lift that hammer and find a way to hurt him with it. Have to lift it high and allow gravity to do damage that she would undoubtedly feel all the way up the handle.

Merely thinking about it made her gag.

When she coughed to try to hide it, Zak's eyes snapped to her. She tried to act strong, to stand at attention like he was and focus on keeping her balance. The sickness in her gut was making her center of gravity slip and every so often she started to tilt with it.

"Never hurt anybody, have you?" His eyes were no longer on her, his expression blank, but that had been his voice.

"No." It was barely more than a whisper. "I told him…I told him I…" Her eyes fell to the floor and she grimaced. "I told him this was a bad idea."

The nod he gave her was subtle, but she caught it out of the corner of her eye. "He doesn't listen well."

That would have made her smile if not for the heaviness within her. "I've noticed."

Silence stretched between them then, completely tense and uncomfortable. Harley wanted to break it so badly, but knew that their situation called for silence, for reverence. This was a man's death they were about to witness, whether any of them wanted to recognize that yet or not.

Harley had been desperately trying to avoid that thought, had been assuring herself that she would be in no way involved. This was the Joker's work, work for his hired hands. It was not her place, not her job. Taking lives was miles out of her comfort zone, out of her spectrum of ability altogether. No matter how much the Joker threatened her, that was one line she could not cross and hoped desperately that it would not come to that.

"Deep breaths." Zak's voice was quiet with reassurance.

Frightened eyes glanced up to see him attempt a smile.

"You need to take deep breaths to calm yourself down." Still he did not dare raise his voice enough for anyone else to hear. "Focus on a spot in the distance, like that black smudge on the wall. Stare at it and focus on your heartbeat, take slow deep breaths and listen to it slow down."

Furrowing her brow, she stared at him in confusion. He was helping her, trying to get her to calm down. When the Joker talked about his men he made them all seem like evil men with only the worst planned for her.

But Zak, he was different somehow. Kind, quiet, put together. She wondered how he had ever managed to get caught up in the Joker's chaos. They seemed to have a different dynamic, less of a power differential. It was clear the Joker was still his boss, but the small bits of memory that Harley still had from the night she was attacked led her to believe Zak was trusted far more than any of the others.

Eventually she managed to tear her eyes away from him, focused on a black streak on the wall opposite them and refused to look away. And then she heard it, the pounding of her heart in the confines of her chest. Closing her eyes, she tried to take even breaths to calm it.

"Eyes open, soldier." There was something in his tone then. Something caught between a joke and a memory. "You aren't the first to get scared before your first battle, believe me. But you need to stay in the moment. Eyes open, focused on a spot, but aware of the world around you."

Another breath and Harley opened her eyes, stared straight ahead at that spot again. Ignored the men that she cold see in her peripheral vision, filled her ears with the pounding of her heart rather than the whimpering coming from the man on the ground.

It was in that silence, in the space filled by the rhythm of her heart, that she realized just why Zak was so different. His army terms, the way he had referred to her as a soldier. Clearly she had been blind to not realize before how he ended up here.

He was the medic.

Zak had managed to get caught up with J because they had been together from the start. Their fates had been intertwined since the two of them became prisoners of war. In a way, it seemed as though they had never quite escaped. There was history there, rich and deep, a history she hoped to learn all about it one day.

Maybe someday she could talk it out of Zak, since she very much doubted J would be up for sharing. It honestly seemed like a miracle that she had gotten the honest truth about his scars from him.

Scraping noises across the room drew Harley's attention away from the wall. Through the maze of corpses, the Joker emerged again. That camera bag was slung over one shoulder and he was carrying a tripod.

"Boys." Dark eyes turned on the two men standing on either side of Brian. "Don't you think our guest needs a better seat?"

Neither of the men spoke, neither moved. They just stared straight ahead, focused on spots against the wall as they waited for orders. Harley wondered if they were scared too.

"Did I cut out your fucking tongues?" His voice had dropped to that dangerous octave again and her shoulders tensed in response. Even when he wasn't addressing her, seeing him like this was downright terrifying.

One of the men flinched and stood up a little straighter. "What do you want us to do, boss?"

The Joker seemed to consider this response a moment, let it linger in the air to make sure it was acceptable.

"Better," he decided eventually. And then he turned his attention to Zak. "I want you to find Brian a chair. Something nice and comfortable. And some rope while you're at it."

Harley watched his blank expression, the way his eyes never focused on the man talking to him until the last few words. And then he nodded, one stiff motion as he unclasped the hands behind his back.

"Right away, boss."

Losing his presence beside her made Harley anxious. Something about his closeness, his fleeting words of comfort and advice, it was all she had to hold onto. J should have been walking her through this, telling her not to be afraid and whispering about how proud he was of her for doing this. But he wasn't and she doubted he would. His mind was miles away now, too far gone for her to ever hope to catch up now.

Deep breath, focus on your heartbeat. Do not let the fear show in your eyes.

"How you holding up, honey?" It was that high, mocking voice. The one she couldn't stand with all of its plastic concern.

She wondered how he could read her so easily.

"Fine." Even to her own ears it sounded like she was on the verge of tears.

"Good!" Grinning ear to ear, he snapped his head around to the face the men across the room. "Go wait outside. Harley's got it from here."

Blood turned to ice in her veins, stopped still and cold at the sound of her name. At the implication of what she was capable of. Gone was the calm, serene feeling that Zak had helped her achieve. Now her heart was back to beating against her ribcage as sweaty palms slipped against the handle of her sledgehammer.

One of the men across the room caught her eyes and she swore he could sense her fear. Quickly as she could, she looked away and swallowed hard. She had to seem tough, had to keep herself in check. This was just a charade, just a way for her to seem like she was no longer a weakness. Soon enough Zak would be back and he would do her job for her if anything got out of hand.

"OUT!" The word was bellowed so loud that Harley actually jumped and flinched at the way it rang off the walls.

Instantly the men beside Brian moved, their boots clomping against the red tile floor as they went. The door groaned as they opened it, their thin shapes moving into the darkness of the parking lot.

The Joker turned on her then, coat swinging hard enough to show off the red lining inside. "Go on and take your post, honey."

Staring straight ahead, Harley nodded. Focused on her beating heart and even breathing. Slow, unsteady steps carried her across the room as she dragged the hammer behind her. The sound of metal scraping tile filled the room, made goosebumps erupt across her flesh.

When she took her post next to Brian he shifted on his knees. He was whimpering again and Harley had to focus on the sound of her breathing to distract her attention from it. Every cell of her body was objecting now, telling her that this was wrong. She should run, escape. But she couldn't. Not now.

There was nowhere for her to run now.

Heavy footsteps were approaching and she closed her eyes as The Joker's arms wrapped around her waist. Her mind tried to push away the world around her, tried to focus on his touch and the way she could feel the rise and fall of his chest. She could forget where they were, what he was doing, what he was asking of her.

"Did I tell you earlier that you look really fucking good in that ensemble you're wearing, hmm?" He nipped too hard at her ear and she sucked in a breath through her teeth. "Red and black seem to be your colors, sugar."

"Thanks." It was less than genuine and the way his grip on her tightened told her he recognized that.

"What's the matter, sweetheart?" Mocking dripped from his tongue to sting her skin. Every word of concern that he uttered was like venom, his pet names acid.

She remembered the previous night, the way he had worshipped her like a pagan goddess as she writhed at his touch. That moment just before sleep took hold when she felt him climb in bed beside her and filled with warmth at knowing he had come back to her. The way she thought that maybe, just maybe their feelings were mutual and genuine.

"Are you nervous, Harley?" Those words nested in her mind, laid eggs that turned to spiders that filled her imagination with new horrors.

"No." That was a blatant lie, which he caught immediately and played right into his hand.

"You're not?" His hands caressed her arms, moved to hold the trembling fingers that covered the handle of the sledgehammer. "Then why don't we take a swing, hm? See where it lands…"

Gripping her hands, he tried to force her to pick up the hammer. The room spun and colors flared behind her eyelids as panic constricted her throat. Their bodies turned to face Brian properly and the hammer was swung back like a croquet mallet.

"NO!" She struggled in his arms, tried to stop the hammer's momentum and get away. "Fuck, please, don't…"

There were tears now, blurring her vision and spilling down her cheeks. Behind her, J stepped back and dropped her hands. He moved over to Brian with a shrug, though she didn't miss the disappointment that tugged at his frown.

"That's what I thought." Something sparked in the void of those dark eyes as he glanced between the sledgehammer and Brian's shuddering form. "Doesn't matter, though. You'll get in the game soon enough."

She wondered what he meant by that, what new and awful thing he had up his sleeve for her. It became increasingly clear with each passing second that the Joker was as creative as he was devious. And it was almost funny because she had seen him like this before, much as she wanted to deny it. The first time he had been in the coffee shop his eyes had been black holes, just like that night in her apartment when he had first found her after the attack.

Those had all been fleeting glances at the Joker, at the star that burned at the center of his galaxy. As a whole, J was all chaos and planets and dust hurling through space, but at the center of all of that madness burned something far more dangerous, something that could destroy everything surrounding it with just one bad collision.

Footsteps entered the room, followed by a dragging sound. Zak had returned with an office chair and a length of rope. Grinning, the Joker made a low noise in his throat and crossed to take the rope from Zak.

"Get him in the chair." A grin tugged at his scars as his fingers twitched against the rope.

With sick fascination, Harley watched as Zak lifted Brian's body with seemingly no effort and sat him back in the office chair.

"LET ME GO!" Brian screamed. It was the first words Harley had heard him utter and they tugged at her conscience. Made her heart heavy and her mind thick with guilt.

The Joker laughed and had Zak hold the man's arms behind him as he set to work tying them. Legs came next, forcing Brian back awkwardly as he was hogtied in the chair. Ironic considering the corpses of dozens of pigs surrounded him, a joke that was not lost on Harley.

Because everything was planned with the Joker, wasn't it? Everything was one big joke that he would play out just so until the entire world was in on it. And if they weren't, then they would certainly be the punchline. To say it was a relief to know she was in on his twisted sense of humor was both an understatement and a curse. Being in on the joke meant that she would ultimately have to help tell it. Allow it to play out and laugh along like she meant it.

His lips moved silently as he crossed the room and left Zak to make certain the knots were tight. Something unintelligible was muttered before he grimaced and snarled, shaking his head violently to dismiss it. Shutting her eyes tight, Harley bowed her head and tried to ignore what was going on around her.

All of her thoughts centered on escape. Not physical escape, there would be none of that, but rather on relocating herself to a happier place. To her apartment and painting and two coffee cups left unattended as J kissed her breathless.

Teeth digging into her lip, she cast away that last thought. Tried to think of anything that didn't remind her of him, but came up short. He was everywhere now, wasn't he? A part of her.

In just a few short months he had managed to taint every part of her life, left his presence hanging over every facet of her existence like a looming shadow. Slowly, so slowly that she hadn't even realized it was happening, he had become such an integral part of her that she could not escape him. She was his now.

Something clattered against the floor and the Joker swore viciously at it. Harley dared a glance at him, all bent shoulders and swaying purple coat. Watched him contort his face and worry his scars as he concentrated on getting the camera's tripod to stand upright. Again it toppled and Harley noticed that one of the legs was wobbling. Easy fix, but she doubted he had the patience for her to point it out, let alone the will to fix it.

He was electricity now. A power surge brought to life. Every movement sparked, his fingers twitched and his presence made the room buzz with static. He could give life and take it as he pleased, each movement a strike of lightning finding ground.

With one solid kick he sent the tripod skidding across the room and picked up the camera from the floor.

"Looks like we have to do things the old fashioned way," he said, fiddling with the buttons and beginning to set up his shot. "Move over by Zaky-boy, sweetheart. No sense in everyone thinking you're a hostage too."

He winked at her and she couldn't decide if it was a warning or genuine flirtation. Either way, she moved to the other side of the room where Zak was now standing, dragging her hammer along with her. They were obscured from the view of the camera by not-yet-skinned pigs that made Harley more anxious than bloody hunks of meat behind Brian.

"What's he doing?" she whispered, leaning close to Zak.

The stoic face faded and Zak grimaced. "I'm not sure, just said we were going to send Gotham a message."

"I don't like it." That felt wrong to admit, but she couldn't hold it back.

With a slight nod, he shrugged. "He's at war again."

"Again?" Though she knew what he meant, she wasn't entirely clear on how this related to war.

"He said he told you about the scars." The words were said slowly, deliberately, as though trying to keep a memory buried.

It was clear she was treading on thin ice now and should speak carefully. "He did. I…I guess I don't get how this relates to war."

"It's torture, it's a declaration of war and intent. Before we got here, the boys roughed the hostage up pretty bad to get him to stay put. They broke his body and now the Joker is going to break his spirit."

She sighed, watching the pieces stack up in her mind and fall into place. "I still don't like it."

"You've never seen him like this before, have you?" There was a knowing look in his eyes and Harley could only nod. It seemed to surprise him all the same, but he smiled like she had given him a gift.

Her tongue worried at the stitches inside her mouth anxiously before she decided to elaborate. "I've seen hints of it. There's always some of this lurking there. In his voice or in the way he moves and talks to himself when he thinks I'm not listening. But, no, never full on like this."

A smile tugged at the sides of Zak's mouth again. "You're lucky. This is the only way I've seen him for years."

"Was he not always…?" She didn't quite know how to finish that thought.

Shaking his head, Zak looked over to make sure the Joker was still busy with the hostage. "He had this in him all along, all of the rage and hate and killer instinct. That's why war suited him so well. But it wasn't as obvious before…"

He motioned to his cheeks and Harley knew exactly what he meant. Lifted a hand to her own face to feel the stitches on her cheeks as her mind tried to wrap around the way receiving matching cuts had changed the man J had once been. Wondered if it would change her that way, if she would become like him. It seemed unlikely, considering how loud her conscience was even now.

"Do you think…if that hadn't happened…would he have still become the Joker?" It felt wrong to ask, to even play with the idea of him being anything but the man he was today, but she had to know.

Zak seemed to sense the taboo nature of the question and he hesitated before replying. "I think this was inevitable. The Joker is who he is and nothing was ever going to stop this." A pause and then he sighed. "When he's around you, though…the night he called me to stitch you up…that was the most like his old self that I had seen him in years. I think you're good for him."

A deep blush colored Harley's cheeks and she glanced down at the sledgehammer still balanced against her palms. "Thanks."

It felt surreal, being told that she was good for J even as he was across the room torturing a man in a Batman costume. Nothing about her life since getting her face cut open had seemed like reality, but this was by far the most bizarre event to transpire. But that, she was quickly learning, seemed to be the nature of life with J.

"Are you ready for your close up?"

The Joker's voice drew Zak's attention across the room and Harley's eyes followed. Camera in hand, he was leering over Brian, checking the knots and getting as close to the man's space as he could. With every movement from the Joker, the man whined in pain. By the way J continued to drive his elbow into the man's shoulder, Harley assumed there was a wound there that he was trying to exacerbate.

Once the man was nearly sobbing from pain, the Joker stepped back and nodded in approval. Brian was sickly pale beneath his cowl, his body slumping forward against his binds as though half-dead.

Fiddling with the camera, the Joker stepped a few feet away from his hostage. Eventually he made an approving noise and steadied his hands.

"Aaaaaannndd action!" His shoulders shook with giggles as he pressed the button to record.

"Tell them your name."

Deep breaths, in and out, focus on something across the room for a distraction.

Harley did her best to appear stoic, but knew her face betrayed the fear and anxiety the situation plagued her with. She was scared, scared for Brian and for Gotham, scared of what the Joker was planning, scared to go home and share a bed with him.

How would she be able to occupy space with him knowing who he was, what he was capable of?

When it had just been the bank robbery, it hadn't bothered her, strange as that seemed. In the Narrows such behavior was not at all uncommon. Robbery and theft were a way of life. Even the people wealthy enough to buy coffee from her shop in the morning were likely to have some affiliation with the mob. It didn't matter, didn't bother her. Even when J had told her that he had murdered the man that sent Victor Zsasz after her, the revelation had felt more satisfying than bothersome because it was revenge.

But this…this wasn't revenge. This was something new and horrifying. Territory that Harley had never even dreamed of setting foot in. He had dragged her into this and was forcing her to face the reality of what he did, what he was capable of. Before now it had all been meaningless, she didn't care what he did as long as he came home to her at night.

Seeing his business laid out in front of her suddenly made her feel guilty. Had she not been here, had she heard about this later in the night when J got home, she knew it would not have bothered her like seeing it in person did. This was just as much about proving a point to her and getting her into his game as it was a way to show Gotham what was in store for them.

"LOOK AT ME!"

She'd never heard him sound like that. So angry, so intense, so downright inhuman. It made her heart pause, made her veins go dry and crack like ice. Against the tension in her chest, she gasped for breath.

"See, this is how crazy Batman's made Gotham. You want order in Gotham, Batman must take off his mask and turn himself in. Oh! And everyday he doesn't people will die. Starting tonight. I'm a man of my word."

He cackled then, howled like some mad dog as Zak moved across the room too quick for Harley to even ask what he was doing. Brian screamed, the noise making Harley's muscles buzz from the electric tension.

The Joker was a black hole, it wasn't just those dark eyes or the way he held her too tight. He was a star gone supernova and becoming a force of gravity too strong to reckon with. Entire worlds and realities seemed to be plunged into chaos around him, all screaming and twisting in agony. And he was laughing as he consumed every last one.

Switching off the camera, he dropped it carelessly into the bag before turning back to Zak and the hostage. "Untie him."

Zak hesitated. "Sure thing, boss. What are we going to do with him?"

Pulling a face, the Joker shrugged. "I'm gonna see what he does first."

Confused, Zak knelt behind the chair and cut the rope holding Brian in place. The man seemed to collapse in on himself, the relief of having his limbs free seeming to be enough to hold him there for a moment. Slowly his hands and arms fell forward and he rubbed the likely numb appendages to get the blow flowing through them again.

"Is that better, Brian?" Condescension dripped off the Joker's every word and Brian didn't even bother to look at him. Just kept working those hands and twitching his legs to regain feeling.

And then the unthinkable happened.

Brian got up.

Not only did he get up, clambering up to his feet unsteadily on weakened limbs, he tried to run. For a moment, Harley watched him in horror, completely unsure how to react. He managed to take six stumbling steps toward the door, screaming the entire way, as Harley watched with open mouth.

And then he moved near her, almost managed to get by before she reacted on instinct. Took cues from her inner child and stuck a foot out to trip him. A small part of her mind wished it hadn't worked, but she found herself overwhelmed with amazement and budding pride when it did.

He fell to the ground with a groan, landing face first on the hard floor with the slap of skin on tile. It made the Joker cackle, loud enough to fill the whole room with his delighted hooting. His mouth popped and mimicked the sound as he stalked over to where their hostage had fallen.

"Did you really think that was going to work, Brian?" The laugh had not faded from his voice, still seemed to be trying to claw its way up his throat.

His foot collided hard with the man's ribcage, hard enough to draw a cry of pain. Even those ridiculous hockey pads Brian was wearing as body armor didn't soften that blow.

Unsettling as it was to watch, it was nothing compared to the realization of what would have to come next. She had tripped him, managed to keep up her end of the deal. But if she had learned anything about the Joker, it was that he never did things without a plan

It felt as though her lungs were collapsing as he came close. She couldn't move, couldn't draw breath. And when he turned his eyes on her, her knees nearly gave out. Any moment now he was going to give her an order and she would have to find a clever way to get out of acting on it.

"You are nothing!" Brian's cry surprised both of them.

Furrowing her brow, Harley took a step toward him. "Huh?"

But the Joker was on him in moments, gripping that ridiculous pseudo-armor and lifting the man off the ground completely.

"What was that, Brian?" Licking his lips, he raised his eyebrows like a dare. "You still trying to put up a fight?"

Struggling to get free, Brian pulled back and glared daggers between them. "Our city…the people in it…we aren't intimidated by people like you."

If that was an attempt at heroic dialogue, Harley wasn't buying it for a second. All it seemed to do was amuse J to no end. His face absolutely lit up as the man spoke, a grin stretching across his mouth to expose yellowed teeth. When the shadows caught it just right, the expression became a snarl.

"Not only do you dress up like Batman, you sound like him too." That made the Joker cackle and he pushed Brian back with enough force to send him stumbling. "Let's see if you fight like him, hm?"

A wave of confused panic chilled Harley's blood. She glanced across the room at Zak, who had turned his attention to the Joker, but kept his face stoic. Even when she tried to get his attention, he refused to meet her eyes.

"I've fought alongside him, freak." Spitting on the floor, Brian held up his fists as though ready to spar.

That elicited another cackle and the Joker stepped toward the Batman look-alike with measured amusement. "The way I heard it, he put you and your little friends out of business."

Giving him a withering look, Brian tried to argue. Immediately J interrupted him, already on one of those little monologues he seemed so fond of.

"Doesn't matter, because now you have the chance to do it." He nodded enthusiastically, those glassy eyes glinting dangerously. "You have the chance to prove yourself to Batman and all of his friends. See, if I kill you, my lovely assistant here is going to send our little home video off to the news station in the morning. But if you kill me…there won't really be a point in that, hmm?"

By the way he cocked his head, she knew he was up to something. Something awful. She wasn't certain she could watch. Brian was being lured into a trap and he seemed completely oblivious. The very chance to have a turn at the Joker had his eyes glinting and his fists curling in anticipation.

"You want me to fight you?" Confidence was returning to the man's voice, his fear almost completely gone.

Pursing his lips, the Joker nodded. Harley knew it was a challenge, but Brian seemed hesitant. "Be the one to stop me, Brian. Come on. Hit me. Prove you're just as good as the Batman."

And that was all it took to fill Brian with some heroic sense of self-worth. Pulling back his arm, he landed a punch right against the Joker's jaw. Despite expecting it, Harley yelped on his account. Watched his head crack to the side as he laughed like someone was tickling him.

"You can do better!" That cackle filled the room and made both Brian and Harley uneasy. Though he was trying to stay confident, uncertainty was filling Brian's eyes. "Do it again. Come on. Don't hold back."

Turning his head, he offered the other side of his face. Hands gripping the handle of her sledgehammer, Harley looked away. He was trying to prove something, she knew he was, but she had yet to figure out what.

Another blow landed against his face, harder this time. The laugh he let out was louder, downright crazed. It seemed to be his automatic response to pain. Part of her wondered how he had trained himself to do that, the other was near certain she knew. When he had told her the origin of his scars, he had mentioned telling jokes to keep his head above water. This response was undoubtedly linked.

"Better." He gave an approving nod and stood straight, cracking his back in the process. "Come at me again. I promise I won't fight back. Not until she does."

It felt as though she had been slapped. "What?"

With a shrug, he motioned for Brian to come at him. "I won't fight back…" A mean right hook had him stumbling through giggles. "Until you make the first move, sugar."

Blinking in confusion, Harley felt her heart begin to race. "What am I supposed to do?"

But he didn't answer, was too busy taking every punch their hostage had for him with peals of laughter. The sound of armored fists pummeling flesh filled the room, nearly overpowered by mad cackles.

He was testing her. Waiting to see how much abuse she could allow him to endure before her heart got the best of her. Because it was getting the best of her. Every movement had her twitching, had her pulse moving too fast, her head pounding in time with Brian's fists.

This made her want to hate the Joker, though she knew deep down she was in too deep for that. She resented the way he had cornered her, called her bluff and mocked her inability to act. Fuck, it sounded like he was enjoying this. There was no pain on his face, no sign of weakness in that overpowering laughter. It was slithering into the crevices of her mind, and pushing at them to break her apart. Demanded room to roam when she had none.

She had to stop it. All of it. Had to fight back against Brian if she wanted that goddamn maddening cackle to end. But she didn't want to fight, couldn't bring herself to do so.

J knew damn well she was capable of defending herself, had managed to shoot Victor Zsasz after he attacked her. Though he had not seen it, she was certain that she had told him about it.

But this wasn't about her will to fight, was it? This was a test of her loyalty.

Fucking asshole.

The air went suddenly silent as a blow to the diaphragm had the Joker choking on his laughter. Heat rushed to Harley's face as panic began to set in. Surely if Brian hurt him badly enough he would fight back. He had to. She wouldn't play his fucking game…

"Stop messing around, J, just hit him!" Desperation was clear in her voice, the edge of hysteria ringing through along with it. Even through the slow gasps to regain his breath, she could see J smile. There was blood on his teeth.

Furious with her own weakness, she turned to Brian. "Brian, please, you don't have to humor him."

It was difficult to keep her voice even and passive, but she tried her damnedest. She was not going to resort to violence to solve this. They would talk it out with Brian and J would see that the cards didn't always have to play out in his favor. There were alternate hands, new ways to play what she had been dealt.

"Really, by beating the shit out of him you're just giving him what he wants!" It was a desperate cry, but it seemed to do the job.

For a moment those attacks paused and Brian turned his attention to her. "You don't get it, do you? This man is going to destroy the city and he has given me a chance to stop him. I'm not going to give him what he wants because you won't act and he won't fight back if you don't. I'm going to kill him by the time you make up your mind."

When she looked to Zak for support she noticed that his eyes had returned to the wall, his face now a stoic mask.

"Zak, help him. Help me!" Her eyes stung, there was a knot in the back of her throat. "ZAK PLEASE!"

Not so much as a flinch. He acted as though he hadn't heard her.

Across the room, Brian yanked at J's hair and slammed his head against the wall. And when J laughed, it sounded weak and far too forced. His head fell back and she could see blood on his hairline and staining his lips. The trickle of saliva that he spat onto the floor was red.

It brought her back to the apartment, to the kitchen floor and the way he had propped her over his knee to spit out the blood from her wounds. His hand on her hair, his voice laced with apprehension.

The second time his skull connected with the wall, Harley was already screaming. A great howl that burst from her throat as she lunged forward. With strength she was unaware she possessed, that hammer swung back and came forward like a pendulum. In the moments that followed she became rage and hate and curses, closing her eyes as she bared her teeth and hit her target with deadly precision.

"Get your hands off of him, creep!" It was strange how her voice managed to drop into a deadly growl as she yelled and let that hammer swing forward with all the moment she could give it.

A crack made the room go silent. The entire universe took a breath and held it as the hammer was pulled back with a great squelching noise and swung once more for good measure. Her hands were working of their own accord, her mind so hellbent on saving J that nothing else mattered. Another crack, this one not entirely unlike the breaking of an egg, yet so horrifyingly different.

That time she felt the bone give, knew that she had bore steel into something squishy and wet that splashed back at her. Wet her face, her shirt, her hair.

One eye opened, then the other. Her chest was still heaving with angry breath, sweat clinging to her skin as she pulled back and removed the hammer from the back of Brian's skull. There was a thud as his body hit the ground, another as the hammer fell from her hands and she took a series of stumbling steps back.

Her back connected with something slick and cold. One of those skinned carcasses on a meat hook. Throat too tight to scream, she took two steps forward before collapsing on her hands and knees. The room was spinning, the image of Brian's mangled skull and brain matter seared into her mind.

Somewhere across the room, she could hear J saying something but her ears were ringing too loud. Nausea wracked her body, made her gag and spit and finally lose her dinner all over the floor. Cold filled her insides, cold and sick and the overpoweringly rancid taste and smell of vomit.

Through watering eyes she tried to hazard a glance at J and Zak. Both of them were frowning, Zak's eyes fixed on the body and J's on her. Shivers coursed through her and she gagged again.

"I'm sorry." It was the first thing that left her mouth after she spit again. "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry…"

The words became a mantra until they made her sick one last time. She coughed on them and choked and sniffled as she tried to rid her mouth of the taste. Shivers made her limbs weak, nearly had her collapsing.

And then there were arms around her. Arms that held her tight and tried to stop the shakes as her body was pulled away from the puddle of sick and the corpse across the room. A voice was in her ear, his voice. She wasn't certain he was even saying anything, but the sound washed over her and lulled her into a false sense of security.

Eventually she made sense of it. Found a cadence in those low mutterings and distinguished words.

"Haaaarrrrllleeeeeyyyyy. You did it. My girl's a killer. A killllleeerrrr."

As quickly as it had come, the calm faded. Lashing out with all the strength she could muster, she escaped his arms and tried to stand. Those shivers were still coursing through her, made her rise unsteadily to her feet like a baby giraffe fresh from the womb. Each quaking movement brought her closer to the door and she landed against it heavily. Allowed it to support her as she rested her forehead against the cold paint that covered it.

"Harley!" Her name was barked like a disobedient dog and she clenched her teeth against the way it tangled her insides as his footsteps drew near.

"Don't you fucking touch me!" There were no tears in her, but she sobbed all the same.

A disgusted scream tore up her vocal chords as his hand latched around her wrist. Growling low in his throat, he began to drag her away from the door far enough to get it open.

"Fucking stop it!" Her throat was tight. She wanted to cry. The heat of his skin was making her sweat and she felt sick again. "I told you not to touch me and I meant it!"

His hand was on the handle, but he let go of her all the same. Holding up his arms in surrender, he glanced between her and the door handle.

"Alright, alright." Annoyance saturated his tone and Harley felt herself rising up for another challenge. "You mind telling me what's, uh, got you alllll defensive?"

She nearly screamed in frustration at just how thick he could be sometimes. "Defensive? DEFENSIVE? I just…I just killed him. For you. I…I didn't mean to. I just wanted to stop him because I thought…thought he was…going to…FUCK!"

This time she really did cry, her whole body shaking with sobs and heaving breaths as reality set over her. Brain matter and blood was still seared into the back of her eyelids and sticking to her skin, it was all she could see when she closed her eyes.

And he laughed. That fucker giggled at her frustration, her anger, and her guilt. He knew just what she was getting at and he laughed like it was all a good joke.

"I told you I was going to get you in the game, sugar." The door creaked as he opened it and the summer breeze swept into the slaughterhouse. "You didn't disappoint, either. I'm impressed by that little stunt."

She couldn't even look at him, the very idea of the amused grin she knew was tugging at his mouth made her sick. Made her want to punch him right in his smug mouth. "Oh, fuck you!"

With quick, determined strides she stepped out into the dark parking lot. One of the boys near the door had a cigarette he was lighting and she marched straight over to him. There had been a time when her only solution to stress was the sweet mixture of caffeine and nicotine, and today she seemed to be returning to old habits.

"I need one of those," she hissed.

The man looked up in surprise and his eyes seemed to bug at the sight of her.

"Jesus," he said, taking the pack from his breast pocket. "Yeah, it looks like you do."

Not even acknowledging his comment, she took the cigarette with a nod of thanks and motioned for his lighter. Without another word, he handed it over. Through each motion, he refused to meet her eyes, hardly even looked at her bloodstained face with its crude stitches. The Joker leering behind her likely didn't help.

Ignoring the man's discomfort, she lit the cigarette and inhaled. It burned. That first breath filled her mouth with dryness and made her lungs object vehemently. Handing back the lighter, she tried to hide her cough and nodded as she turned away. Another hit and the nicotine kicked in. Her limbs buzzed, got fuzzy and distant and she groaned at how good that space felt.

"I thought you quit," J sneered.

Harley bristled at the sound of his voice. Wide-eyed and angry, she exhaled a cloud of smoke before whirling around to face him. "I DID!"

A gloved hand wrapped around the back of her neck and he shoved his face close to hers. "We talked about that mouth of yours, Harley. It's going to get you into trouble."

Contorting her face against tears, she took a deep breath. "Don't…don't do this right now. You keep pushing me and I can't be pushed any more right now. I just fucking smashed a man's head in with a hammer to keep him from killing you. Do you not get how fucked up that is? I am fucking covered in blood and I really just want a goddamn shower."

"Don't you turn this on me." Black eyes bore into hers and she felt herself shrink beneath them. "I didn't make you swing that hammer. All I said was that you needed to fight back. You made the choice to kill, sugar."

Tears mixed with blood and slid down her cheeks. "I couldn't let him kill you. He was going to and I knew he would. I had to."

"Just keep telling yourself that, cupcake." He patted her cheek like a parent trying to cheer up a child after a temper tantrum. "Now finish that thing and get in the car. There's still work to do."

Shaking and confused, Harley watched him turn and walk back to the slaughterhouse.

Her stomach was still sick, her mind struggling to wrap around the gravity of the situation. Deep down she knew that what she had done was bad. That she had crossed a line and done it of her own free will. But it had felt justified at the time, had been an act of passion and revenge. An act of self-defense on his behalf.

Yet, at the same time, it terrified her to know she was capable of such a thing. That there was blood on her hands, both literally and figuratively, and she'd been the one to put it there.

Leaning on the door of the SUV for support, she watched the door of the slaughterhouse while finishing off that cigarette. The rush of nicotine did nothing for her, hardly even managed to calm her nerves. She finished it anyway, if only as a way to occupy her mind.

Time passed, enough time to feel like hours. The cigarette had been crushed underfoot long before the door opened again and Zak and another man came out carrying Brian's body. His cowl was on his head and there was something on his face. Something that looked like grease paint, though it was hard to see in the near-complete darkness of the dirt lot.

And then the Joker emerged, all heavy steps and twitching hands. Danger emanated from his every pore, his dark eyes scanning the lot as he went. Every detail seemed to be taken in and filed away as his lips moved in barely-spoken words.

He was humming, Harley realized eventually. Humming and nodding his head along to a song she nearly recognized. It made her heart stutter to see him like this, to see the smile on his face and the little hop in his step. He seemed happy, bordering on elated and she couldn't help reveling in the way it radiated right into her.

Zak said something to the other man hauling the body, though it was too low for Harley to hear, and J let out a cackle at it. Nearly skipped the rest of the way to the car.

And suddenly she was angry, angry that he could be so lighthearted and nonchalant after making her take a life. After asking her to do what she had previously believed impossible for her. Here she was feeling broken and frightened of her own two hands while he seemed to be in incredibly high spirits.

Watching her kill Brian hadn't bothered him at all. It had downright delighted him. That bothered her, made her wonder what else he was capable of making her do.

The realization settled over her like a weight, one too heavy to stand beneath. Two things became very clear in that moment and both of them implied things that she was wholly uncomfortable with. The first was that the man she had placed her affections in was more unhinged and twisted than she ever could have imagined.

But more importantly, she realized that her feelings for him ran so deep that she was afraid of him and what he could do. What he could make her do. When mixed together they were a chemical reaction so volatile and deadly that they could shake the very foundations of the earth.

It frightened her, he frightened her, but most of all she was beginning to frighten herself.


	9. Paradise Circus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harley learns about jealousy and kinks.

"It's unfortunate that when we feel a storm  
We can roll ourselves over cause we're uncomfortable  
Oh well, the devil makes us sin  
But we like it when we're spinning in his grip."

~Massive Attack "Paradise Circus"

////

"You know, Harley, it takes eight minutes and twenty seconds for the sun's light to reach the earth. If it were to go out now, we would still get that glorious sunrise." The edge of the low wall scraped at his leather gloves as the Joker leaned against it to stare down at the street below. "I'd get to watch it light up your pretty face and then poof! We'd be nothing. Frozen in place and eventually crumbling to dust. Doesn't seem like a bad way to go, really."

When he glanced over at Harley, she didn't seem to be listening. Too busy inspecting the rig he had attached the body to. Likely trying to figure out how they were going to drop him and still manage to get away.

Her worries were for naught, of course. The way she acted, it seemed as though she believed him to be some amateur half-wit criminal. Hadn't it been mere days ago, a week at most, when she had congratulated him on the most elaborate heist a Gotham bank had ever fallen victim to? Did she expect him to have lost all of his ability to plan as soon as the stakes were upped?

No, he was too good for that. Too thorough. There was an out, always an out. He could see five from where they stood against that lip of wall alone. Only one of them was likely to end in death, and there was no way in hell he would allow that to be the way they went.

Harley – his Harley – deserved to go out with a bang, in a blaze of glory so rich and beautiful that the world looked back on it as poetic. Even freezing from a dying sun seemed too boring for her. When she went, she would burn. That girl was too full of fire and passion for anything else. She would become the dying star, a supernova, a force of gravity to be reckoned with. Jumping from the roof the escape the authorities was the coward's way to go. Neither of them were cowards, least of all her.

Tonight had proven that. She had shown her true colors brilliantly to him and he knew her better for seeing them. The minute she had believed him to be in any sort of danger she rose to the occasion. Became fire and hate and rage for the length of exactly five breaths. During that time he had witnessed her true self, her most delicate state. All of her danger had been flayed open and exposed at its barest fibers and he knew in that moment that deep down she was like him.

It scared her, he knew it had, which was why he had her up here. Absolving her guilt by showing her that this was all his fault, all part of his plan, would make the memory of Brian's death hang lighter on her conscience. If he ever wanted her to properly see his side of things, if that smile was going to earn its place on her face, he was going to have to ease her into it.

Such clarity could not be dropped on a person with all of its weight and crushing complexity, it needed to be tested like the waters of the ocean. One had to become accustomed to diving, learn to handle the weight of the water above them inch by inch before they could properly explore the depths. It had taken him nearly a decade to adjust and begin to learn to blend in with the ocean floor, and now that he knew what monsters lie there he knew he needed to expose them for what they were.

Yet she still didn't trust him, still didn't realize that he was doing this for her. They were testing the waters together. Her first dive had been difficult, a little too deep. Now she seemed too timid to even glance at the vast sea before her for fear she would nearly drown again. Silly little thing still couldn't wrap her head around the fact the rest of the ocean should have feared her. That one day it would recognize her for the goddess she was, Amphitrite born anew and more dangerous than before.

"He isn't going anywhere, you know." It was a joke, but she fixed him with a glare violent enough to kill a man.

Frowning, he swaggered over to where she stood and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. He had never imagined her to be the type to internalize anxiety, especially when it came to something of this caliber. It was beginning to agitate him. The anger with which she regarded the entirety of her surroundings seemed to flow through the invisible threads that connected them and became his struggle as well. Half of him wished she would just cry already so they could talk it out and get past this.

Because she would cry eventually. That stoic façade would crumble like a statue to give way to her rage and tears. And he knew the exact way to pull her strings and lift her spirits again. Had already planned what he would say and the way he would kiss her forehead and whisper against tear-streaked lips. All he needed to do was give her a little push to get them there.

Pink and orange lit the skyline as the sun began to kiss the horizon and he used that arm around her shoulders to guide her toward the edge of the building. Together they stood with knees grazing the wall that separated them from oblivion. From falling hundreds of feet, all flailing limbs and fleeting moments of panic before sweet blackness overtook them.

"Gonna be a hot one today." It seemed obvious to both of them, but he felt the compulsive need to point it out, to say anything to get her attention and stop her moping.

"Yeah." She sounded distant, distracted.

Heaving a sigh, he tightened that grip his glove had on her shoulder. Maybe if her hurt her badly enough she would cry. That would get her to break out of this trance she seemed to be in.

No. No!

He knew better than that. Knew that she had already been smacked around more than a few times in her life. No sense in adding to the problem and losing her trust. Getting Harley to talk was going to take a gentle hand.

Gentle had never really been something he excelled at, but he was learning with Harley.

She was teaching him, whether she realized it or not. Ever since that first time he had seen her cry in the coffee shop, when she had nested herself against the counter to wallow in her odd form of shame. That had been the first time in years he had comforted someone. And all of that was nothing compared to the other night in the shower when he had held her through tears.

Honestly, he still could not wrap his head around what had come over him. That insistent pull that had settled him behind her naked form to hold her and whisper against her skin was still so strange. So unexpected. But Harley – his Harley – could not be weak on his watch. Could not doubt her beauty, her spirit, just because Victor Zsasz and the mob had taken it upon themselves to try to teach him a lesson.

He could not wait to return the favor.

The plans were already coming together, the pieces falling into place perfectly. Upon seeing Batman go beyond the city's jurisdiction to get to Lau, the mob had retracted all previous threats against him, had overlooked the way he carved Gambol up and left he and his boys for dead. Now he had them right under his thumb, right where he wanted them. From here it was just a matter of picking them off one by one while they still believed he was on their side.

Once again Harley's eyes had wandered back to the dead body. The body she had created. Turned into a lifeless object rather than a living human. He wanted to feel sorry for her, to sympathize in some way, but continued to come up cold.

Killing had never been a challenge to him. After that first time at sixteen when he had done away with both of those drug addicted scumbags that gave life to him, he had realized just how little effort it took to snuff the little spark out of someone's eye. Hell, it was easy to make it look like an accident.

Joining the army had been second nature. Any excuse to be put in the heart of violence and death seemed like the absolute right environment for him, a good way to sate the blood lust without being held accountable for his actions.

And now that he was at war with the world, with society itself, there was true satisfaction in the act of taking life. An art to the process and a certain amount of creativity behind every drop of blood spilled. If everything in this world was a joke, death was really the greatest joke of all.

It was different for Harley, though. She had yet to see the real hilarity of it. The great satire that her life became the moment she, a truly innocent girl mixed up with the wrong man, murdered a man hiding behind a false sense of justice.

Brian Douglas had not been a good man. He was a vigilante in every sense of the word with less respect for human life than his hero Batman. Brian Douglas had a trail of dead bodies left in his wake during the search for justice. Meanwhile, Harleen Quinzel was a girl that came up short on luck with almost every draw. A girl that had somehow managed to draw a wild card that would now influence every move she made.

They were connected now, their fates forever intertwined. She needed him, depended on his protection and the way he made her feel. Because she did have feelings for him. Wouldn't have killed Brian if she didn't. Harley needed him, Harley had feelings for him, Harley probably loved him without fully realizing it yet. That sort of loyalty was not easy to come by and he refused to let it fade over a completely necessary death.

Under his grip, her shoulder tensed and her head snapped toward the sunrise. There was something in her face, something he had missed before. The way her eyes looked too big and her teeth ground together with the tightening of her jaw. Her breath was coming too fast, her pulse probably fluttering beneath his gloved fingers.

That was fear.

Sucking on his teeth, he glanced between Harley and the body that so actively held her attention.

"Never seen a dead body before, have you, sweetheart?" From the way she closed her eyes and finally glanced toward the skyline he knew he was correct.

"I've…sort of?" Clearly unsure how to answer, she tried to glance back at Brian, but he caught her chin with his free hand and locked eyes with her.

"Yes or no question. Have you ever seen a dead body?"

Those blue eyes grew impossibly wide under his gaze and she shook her head. "Not like this."

All the pieces began to fit then and he reveled in this new epiphany. Knew exactly how to work with that fear. He was accustomed to that fear, knew it well from his early days in combat when the new recruits got their first look at a hostile freshly introduced to a lifeless state.

"Funerals don't do it justice, do they?" He leaned a hip against the wall and tried to get a look at her eyes. "Those bodies in the caskets are just faking sleep. People like to dress up the dead to look like the living, give all the mourners this false sense of death being peaceful. It doesn't do anything to capture what the state is really like. How fragile the line between the life you're living and the grave actually can be. Because death isn't peaceful at all, it's just an end."

Something in Harley's eyes sparked and twinkled in the early morning light. "I always wanted it to be beautiful. They always said death was beautiful. All of the poets and bleeding hearts try to make it this great accomplishment." Her fingers bent and twisted together as she spoke. "It's always just assuring you that your death will be painless, that other people are happier for being dead. But they don't tell you that when you take a life it feels beautiful too. I know…I know it shouldn't have. I don't like it or want to repeat it and I…I hate that it happened. It scares me to know I have that ability. I never want to make that decision again."

There it was, he knew that had been dwelling within her somewhere. Only that sort of realization could have her feeling as guilty and looking as distraught as she did. The guilt had come not from taking a man's life, but in enjoying it.

My girl is a killer.

Wetting his lips, he leaned down as though to kiss her, but she turned her head away.

A breath was blown through his teeth at her resistance. "What if you had to save me again?"

"Never put me in that position again." Her eyes caught his to anchor him in her warning. "I don't appreciate you using a man's life to test me and I swear if you try to do it again I won't lift a finger to help. If you ever actually need me again, I will not hesitate to save you by any means necessary, but I will not kill on a fucking whim for you."

Those eyes were still alight as though she wanted to go on, but refused. Simply shook her head and brushed away the rest of the thought. Even when his grip on her shoulders tightened to pressure it out of her, she simply shrugged in response.

"You know, Harley, death is a funny thing." His voice was low and droned on with his thoughts, only picking up momentum when the words lined up properly for him. And once they had, he knew exactly how reel her in to see his way of thinking again. "People always want to tell you death is beautiful and peaceful and all those other nice things because they want it to be. They dress up the corpse – the inanimate object left behind by life – and tell us that the soul is in a better place. They try to make death into a victory, the gold medal at the finish line.

"But when you see a dead body, a real dead body, you see the truth. Death is defeat. Because life, as you know, is a fight. One we all lose eventually. People hate losing. Even though loss and failure are a necessary part of everything, they can't stand the reality of it. And these people are so terrified of losing, of going before they think it's 'their time,' that they don't fight at all. They give up too early, throw in the towel as though the pacifist route is going to save them from an end that is inevitable. They don't realize that the real defeat isn't in death itself, but their stagnation. There is no glory in going down without a fight. In the end, we all end up like Brian there, but at least he went down swinging. You gave him an honorable death."

There was light in her eyes and he was near certain he had sealed the deal. She was searching his face for something, fingers digging into the lapels of his jacket.

When he bent his head to kiss her, she shook her head and pushed away. "I didn't want to. He didn't need to…"

Narrowing his eyes, he pulled her right back to him. "But he did, sugar. His death is a symbol of that defeat I was just talking about. I'm trying to encourage the good people of Gotham to get back in the ring, fight for the life they keep avoiding actually living. Because you may not have wanted to kill Brian, but the choice to kill him gave you power. It was him or us and you chose us, and it felt damn good. Don't try to tell me for a fucking second that it didn't. I know better."

She didn't say anything and that was enough for him. No matter how hard she tried to deny it, he knew the truth. Regardless of morals and pointless talk of a high road, it would always be best interests that won out. It was the great irony of life. Soon enough she would see it for what it was.

And in the meantime, he had her just where he wanted her. He had pushed her to her limits to find she was a fighter through and through.

Again his head inclined and he traced greasepaint across her jaw and up to her lips. This time she didn't push away, but kissed him back with less enthusiasm than normal.

Stitches brushed against his scars and he was once again reminded of how they matched. Of how alike they were. How one day she would come around fully to his side, see his way of thinking and not hesitate to act on things as she saw fit. One day he would teach her to play the world into her hand just as he had.

"What are we going to do with him?" she asked suddenly, her lips brushing against his with each word.

Pulling back, he glanced back at the body and shrugged. "Told you, honey. We're going to drop him."

"Yes, but how? When?"

He grinned, once again reminded of that lesson in patience he had promised to give her. Perhaps tonight after the first cards from his hand had been laid out for all of Gotham to see. Surely he would need a way to blow off some steam after Harvey Dent, the Commissioner, and Judge Surrillo had been disposed of. He could already picture Harley with her wrists tied to the bedpost as he took his time with her. Fucked her nice and slow, only teasing at the things he had learned she liked until she begged him to make her come.

"You'll know when the time is right," he said at length, trying to push the image of her bound wrists from his mind. It was too sweet, too distracting.

"Do you always have to be so cryptic?" Though she laughed, he could hear the edge in her tone.

He loved riling her up like this. It was so easy to get a rise out of her that he could not resist the chance. That fire in her made him laugh, which only seemed to irritate her further.

"I'm not being cryptic, sugar." When he grinned, she rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. "There's a timer. I was planning on rigging him up to a little device that was going to drop him, but some idiot managed to fuck up the whole mechanism."

His fingers brushed against the device in his pocket, the one that he could probably get working. At this point it seemed pointless. The security guards had been paid off to look the other way, though they had no idea what their eyes were avoiding. Escaping down a back staircase would be quick and easy. All they had to do was wait for the opportune moment. They had all the time in the world, and he still hadn't managed to get Harley talking. Not like he wanted her to.

"Don't be so hard on yourself, puddin'." The smile she gave him was innocent enough, though the stitches on her mouth made it menacing. "You're not an idiot. Just not always great with your hands."

A split second of anger before he burst out in fits of laughter, just like he did every time she took a cheap shot at him. It still threw him that she could be so quick, her tongue sharp and subtle. She was a weapon in and of herself, one that the world would never see coming. Each blow would be gentle and they would thank her for it before bleeding to death.

She may not be opening up yet, but even with all of the turmoil she was internalizing she seemed sharp as ever.

Cocking his head, he stepped close to her. Invaded her personal space until they were sharing breath and his fingers were in her hair.

"I'm plenty good with my hands and you know it." That made her shiver visibly and he ate up the way her eyes dilated at the thought.

This time she was the one that moved to kiss him, all gentle touches and soft lips. Though it had been nearly a week since she was attacked, he could tell the cuts on her mouth still bothered her, kept him from devouring her each time they kissed. The gentle way their lips met now was almost too sweet, nearly enough to gag him. Sometimes he wished he could bite out her tongue just to taste blood mix with her overwhelming sweetness.

"Do I need to remind you, sugar?" His lips brushed against the shell of her ear as a firm hand travelled up her craggy ribs to grip her breast through clothing.

There was no mistaking the tension in her muscles, her entire body winding up and ready to snap. Now was clearly not the time or the place. Before she even moved, he knew she was about to step back. That she would tell him she wasn't feeling it here, that she was overwhelmed and he was not helping, nor was he being funny.

The warmth of her body moved away and he watched the way her eyes fell on his feet.

"I'm sorry," she near-whispered. "It's just…tempting as that offer is, I'm not sure I want to do it up here. Doesn't really seem appropriate. What, with the body here and…I just…"

"Your heart ain't in it. No harm in that." Grinning harmlessly, he held up his hands and stepped back. "Don't try to be diplomatic, honey, you won't hurt my feelings."

"Today has just been too much." Her voice was starting to waver, throat tightening audibly around the words. "I didn't want to be part of this, I didn't want to hurt anyone."

And just like that, the tears came. Pressing the heels of her palms against her eyes, she tried to dam the tears. "And you…you…"

He grinned. "Me?"

"You keep pushing me!" Gritting her teeth, she stabbed an accusing finger at him. "I didn't ask for this, didn't want to get roped up in whatever it is that you do, but somehow… I should have told you to go fuck yourself that first day you came into the coffee shop. But no, I had to go and get mixed up in this. Had to let that asshole from the mob cut open my face, had to let you take me away… And now this. I'm in so far over my head… I just want to go home and forget any of this happened."

There it was, the start of whatever confession he was trying to get out of her. Clearly she didn't mean half of it, knew life was better for the two of them being together, but he was certain it felt good to try throwing their relationship in his face. If she could pretend to not feel anything for him, it would be easier to distance herself from what she had done to Brian, what she had done for him.

"Don't say things like that, sugar." Though his feet itched to move toward her, he continued to lean against that wall. "I know I got carried away, I know I asked too much of you. I should have just done away with him myself. I was just trying to have a bit of fun with you, didn't think you'd actually kill him. I'm sorry, Harley. I shouldn't have put you through that."

It was bullshit, every line, but it was enough to make her face soften. Each calculated word and feigned apology, she ate up all of it and believed him without question.

"You should be home," he went on, her doe-eyed innocence urging him forward. "We should be in your apartment having coffee. The first time I fucked you should have been in that cozy little bed of yours, or up against your kitchen counter because we could never keep our hands off each other there. I had plans for us, sugar. I never meant for the mob to do this to you. I wanted you to be happy. I thought we would find you that cozy little place you'd been dreaming of and send you back to grad school. Maybe we can still make that happen, and in the meantime I'm just trying to protect you. Deep down you know that."

A reluctant smile took her lips and she took a few cautious steps toward him. He'd meant some of that last part. It was impossible not to. She was supposed to be his secret, his guilty pleasure. He missed her apartment and the idea of occupying space alongside her. There was something comforting to it, something that bordered on the kind of normalcy he had lacked for most of his life.

But much as he enjoyed it, much as he missed them having a space that was just for the two of them, he knew that no matter what had happened he would still be here. Brian Douglas would still be dead, the mob would still have hired him, Gotham would be blissfully unaware that it was on the verge of complete and utter chaos. The only difference was she was beside him instead of watching from the sidelines. Honestly, he preferred it this way.

There were arms around him suddenly and she was weeping against his coat, though that smile had not faded from her lips.

"You make me so angry sometimes." She sniffed and rested her cheek against the rough wool. "I just wanted life to stay like it was forever, you know? I loved coming home from work to find your little notes and the pots of coffee you'd make. It didn't last long enough."

Despite himself, he smiled right back at her. "We can still have that, sugar. Might be a different place and a different coffee pot, but a change of scenery never hurt anyone."

Harley shook her head. "But we can't, not really. Things can never go back to normal now."

Rolling his eyes, he fixed her with a cynical look. "Normal is a social construct, Harley. We were never gonna be normal because there's no such thing, not with me. And try as you might to pretend we could have had a boring little life where you worked at that coffee shop forever, we both know better. I've been robbing banks for the last six months, planning all of this for years. I would be up here today whether your face had been carved or not."

Her face darkened. Clearly he had said something she didn't like. And then she smiled, threw her head back and laughed good and loud. Her shoulders shook with it, her entire body seeming to relax suddenly as tilted her head toward the grey and pink stained sky.

Curiously he watched her body shake, her hands coming up to cover her stitches. Laughing seemed to tug at them, he remembered those days, but still she didn't seem able to stop. For a moment he worried that she had completely lost her mind. Wouldn't have surprised him, given her choice of company. Any girl willing to spend her time with him was bound to have a screw loose somewhere.

"So what you're saying," she said eventually, immediately drawing his attention back to her. "Is that you were going to use stolen money to be my sugar daddy."

He blinked. Twice. And then he was laughing right along with her. Of course she would find a way to make a joke of that, completely break the tension that was starting to itch at his skin.

Sharp as a knife, she was, and just as quick and deadly.

His face grew serious and pulled her close. Rested his hands on her hips, thumbs pressing against the bones that jutted there as he appraised her face. From the slight swelling of her lacerations to the humor that had yet to fade from her eyes, it was clear the anger was starting to dispel. That she was coming back to him.

Leaning down, he brushed the puckered skin of his scars against hers. The sensation made his eyes slide shut.

Matching. Mine.

Scars tugging up with his lips, he moved to nip at her ear. "Well, you know I like it when you call me daddy, sugar."

Laughter burst from her throat as she shoved playfully at his chest. "Don't you dare start that again!"

He held her tighter, pulled her to him as though trying to bury her within his flesh. "You were the one that called me your sugar daddy."

"It's a figure of speech!" When she tried to seem defiant, his fingers dug into her sides and she gasped and cackled.

Squirming in his arms, she squealed and tried to escape his fingers. It was like music to his ears. Harley – his Harley – finally sounding like her proper self again. All spark and sharp tongue and giggles at his bad jokes. All it had taken was a bad night to send her full circle, to break her away from the self-doubt those cuts had left her with, to finally make her admit that she was homesick. She wished they could go back and he could not blame her.

But now that they were here, the only way to move was forward.

Forward motion would propel them to new heights, new adventures. New coffee pot, new apartment, new day, new beginning. It was the start of something magical. Something new and rich and fresh and burning with potential that he was itching to unleash.

He glanced from Harley to the sun now nestled squarely above the buildings stretched out before them. Fingers curling around the back of her neck, he kissed her as though he meant to devour her. And this time she consumed his power and handed it back in spades. This time he knew she meant it.

The boys were listening to Outkast in the SUV, bass cranked so loud the windows shook and Zak could feel the vibrations in his chest as he leaned against the door with a cigarette poised between his lips. A grimace tugged at his mouth and he pounded a fist against the tinted window. It rolled down at a lazy pace, smoke reaching into the sweltering summer air in thick white tendrils upon descent.

Disgusted, he took a drag off his cigarette and tried to swallow rage. "Oh, Jesus, please tell me you idiots weren't hot boxing in the boss's car."

Adrian, one of the new hires, was the first to respond. Bloodshot eyes looked Zak up and down before he spat out the window and tilted his head back in defiance. "

"What? Like we're going to stand in the middle of the fuckin' street and smoke this?" The boy laughed at the seeming absurdity of the idea. "Don't be crazy, man."

Blinking a few times at the sheer amount of disrespect the boy was spewing, Zak folded his arms across his chest. This one would be dead in hours, he would make certain of it. Funny how years in the army had done that to him, completely desensitized him to the idea of death and murder. Between the army and Jack his conscience had burned and dispelled like the end of his cigarette.

Not Jack, the Joker. J, as they had decided to call him sometime back as a compromise. Someday he would break himself of that habit. Accept that his old friend had burned the name Jack Napier the moment he first donned that facepaint.

"Jack died in that fucking shack. He was gone the minute they cut my face and I can't resurrect him."

He pushed that thought away with all of his might, focused on the boy before him and that smarmy grin plastered on his pock marked face.

"Of course," Zak retorted, sarcasm so thick on his tongue he feared he would choke on it. "Best not to draw attention to yourself."

"Damn straight, old man. Boss would be angrier if we got caught, right?" Adrian lifted his chin in a way that was supposed to look intimidating, but missed by miles.

Inhaling deeply off his cigarette, Zak rolled his eyes. "Right, because the black SUV with deafening bass idling in an alley is way more subtle than the off chance a cop might smell your weed if you were out here."

"What the fuck you want us to do, man?" That was the other one. Johnny, if Zak remembered right. It didn't matter. He would be dead with the other one soon enough. These two were on this little trip specifically to be disposable if a distraction was needed.

The volume in the car increased when Zak opened his mouth to respond. Hissing through his teeth, he wrenched open the driver's side door and muted the radio with a violent slam of his palm.

"Listen, you little shitheads, we've got some fucking ground rules around here that you need to start following." There was no hiding his impatience now and smoke seeped out of the cracks in his teeth as he spoke. "Rule number one, we need to be undetectable. No loud music, no getting high in the getaway car. Common fucking sense. Rule number two, if you fail to follow rule number one either I will put a goddamn bullet between your eyes, or I will let the boss come up with some creative fucking way to dispose of you. You've seen his girlfriend's face and he likes her. What do you think he'll do to you idiots when he doesn't give two shits about you?"

That last threat made him feel a little guilty. He knew damn well that the Joker had not been the one to give Harley those stitches, but it was a convenient enough way to intimidate the idiots they were working with.

And intimidate them it did. Hell, they seemed scared sick at the very idea of the Joker being allowed to have his way with them. Not that Zak could blame them. In the addition to the stitches on Harley's cheeks, they had seen their boss lose his temper often enough to know what he was capable of. That dead body they had transported earlier that day should have been indication enough.

Speaking of…

"We've just been out here a long ass time, man. We was gettin' antsy." Johnny sucked in a breath, glancing between Zak's stern face and the city hall building. "What's the hold up?"

There was a thud, like the sound of a bird hitting a window. For a breathless moment, Zak looked up to see a body now dangling off the roof of city hall. There was a face staring back at him from at least ten stories up, dirty blonde hair whipping about in the wind. And just as quickly as it appeared, the face was gone.

A walkie-talkie on the dash crackled to life and J's voice filled the small space. "Two minutes tops."

The engine groaned as the car was thrown into gear and Zak took one last hit off his cigarette, itching to be out of downtown. Stunts like this always made him nervous. Though he knew J planned them well, though he assisted in said planning, the execution still made him nervous.

"What the hell was that?" Adrian asked, trying to crane his neck up to glance up to where the sound had come from.

From this angle, the body was a mass of black, bumping against the glass face of the building with each gust of wind. It was hard to tell the shape was even a man from here. Not that this angle mattered much to anyone. Soon all of Gotham would know about the body, about the tape that had preceded the man's death and the Joker's plans to see the city burn.

He opened the hatchback and rifled through the camera bag until he found the tape.

"Hey, Adrian." A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he placed the DVD in an envelope. "You're a fast runner, right?"

Closing the hatchback, he came around to the passenger side and opened the door. Adrian looked panicked, scared even. Especially when that envelope was pressed into his palm.

"Out of the car, kiddo. Time to see if your track record holds." Self-satisfied mirth filled Zak's voice as he clapped a hand on the boy's shoulder and began to urge him out of the car.

"Why do I have to run it?" Adrian sputtered, nearly dropping the envelope from his clumsy, shaking hands. "Why can't you? Why can't Johnny?"

Patiently Zak grinned, trying to look sympathetic but falling short. "Well, Johnny is driving, so he can't do it. And me? I've got better things to do."

The emergency exit of city hall burst open into the alley and Harley came barreling out, the Joker a few steps behind her. Zak opened the back door for them and watched Harley clamber inside before sliding into the passenger seat.

For a moment the Joker hung back, eyeing up the envelope in the boy's hands.

"You know what that is?" His tongue snaked across his lips and he leered forward, watching the boy shrink under his eyes.

"Y-yeah, boss." Sweat was beginning to dampen the boy's brow.

"Good, then you understand how important it is." Eyes wide in mock empathy, the Joker nodded with encouragement. And then his face went dark and he flashed the knife in his right hand. "If that tape doesn't make it to GCN, I will personally feed you your own intestines, understand?"

Without a word, the boy took off like a rocket down the street, sprinting for all he was worth toward the news building. Rolling his eyes, the Joker climbed into the back of the SUV and slammed the door as the vehicle sped off in the opposite direction.

On her last day of grad school, Harley had been told brazenly that she was not defined by her circumstances. Ironic, considering this was her last day of grad school specifically because of her circumstances, but it had stuck with her all the same. Come to be a sort of motto by which she lived her life. No matter the circumstances, she would overcome them.

She was not defined by her circumstances.

This was no different, of course. In the face of a desperate moment and bad circumstance she had acted rashly. Desperate times, desperate measures, desperate choices. Those things did not make her a bad person, they did not make her a murderer. They did not make her like him.

Him. The very man she had sacrificed a part of herself to protect.

He'd pushed her to those extremes, forced her hand until she was left with a singular choice. One play that she refused to allow under her skin no matter how desperately it tried to seep in through her pores.

The two showers she had taken over the course of the last twenty-four hours should have been enough to wash it away, but still guilt clung to her. Refused to run down the drain with the blood that blow to Brian's head spattered her with, or J's greasepaint that seemed to cling to her skin every time he touched her. Even now there was paint on her neck from where he had kissed her before heading off to crash Harvey Dent's fundraiser. She rubbed at it on instinct, unsure if she was trying to wipe it away or relish in its presence.

And the moment her fingers brushed the thick substance, she knew without a doubt it was the latter.

Try as she might, she couldn't bring herself to properly sort out her feelings toward him. After what he had forced her to do she wanted to hate him. Wanted to be sick at the very thought of him and his raucous laughter and stupid purple suit. She wanted to rip at that stringy green hair and scream at him with all her might until her throat burst.

Just as she wanted to kiss him senseless and hold him to her until their bodies melded and became one.

She needed to scream at him, though. Needed to find the opportune moment and lay into him for cornering her as he had. It was unfair, unacceptable, and he needed to know that.

In theory she could have really gotten into it with him on the roof of city hall, had an all out yelling match when no one was around to hear. But she couldn't bring herself to do it. At the time, the little talk they had shared seemed like enough. They had admitted their mutual longing to go back to her old apartment, to share a space that belonged to them and only them. It had seemed sufficient, it had seemed like things were healing.

And then they had pulled up to a warehouse near the docks and a fresh wave of anxiety had chilled her to the bone.

This makeshift apartment was not a space that they could inhabit in a long-term sense, it was not a home for them. It was a convenient place to rest for the time being. The instability made her uncomfortable.

It turned her into a time bomb, despite how well he had treated her that day.

He'd been too kind all the way home, pulling her head against his shoulder in the backseat of the car, leading her up the stairs to their new temporary home with apologies about how it was far less grand than their previous hiding place. Then, sensing her discontent, had promptly excused himself to prepare to kill three public officials. He'd stuck his head in for a brief moment before they left, kissed her and told her to be good, left instructions about getting dinner, and left before she managed to say goodbye.

That was how she had ended up here, curled up on a threadbare couch with half-eaten boxes of Chinese takeout on the floor in front of her. The old television was on and GCN kept playing that clip of the Joker torturing Brian, and the longer she stared at the image the less real it felt. As though the entire ordeal was some bad dream. It played out over and over and with each repetition she became a bit more desensitized to it.

Even when the report shifted to a new development, the newscaster saying in a solemn voice that Judge Surrillo and Commissioner Loeb had been killed, she couldn't be bothered to care. Simply wondered why Harvey Dent's name wasn't on that list.

The question was promptly answered.

"We are receiving reports that the Joker has been sighted at Harvey Dent's fundraiser, making demands to have the DA delivered to him. The district attorney managed to escape safely. One guest was attacked, but the vigilante known as the Batman…"

Harley turned the channel.

A stream of cartoon and bad action movies passed her glassy eyes. At some point she settled on a romantic comedy, some old nineties film about the school bad boy falling in love with the local bitch on a dare. It made her smile in its sheer absurdity, at how the main characters danced around each other for so long until one gave in. Movies like this had given her hope back in high school, back before reality set it.

Reality in the form of one particularly bad ex boyfriend. The one she would never shake, no matter how hard she tried. He had broken her in such a subtle way, done so carefully and slowly until she was completely under his spell. And even when that spell had been broken, when she had finally left him in a desperate attempt to reclaim her sense of self, she was still not the woman she had been. The past six months had not been enough to heal the damage he left and some days she feared she would never fully recover.

And perhaps that was why getting involved with J frightened her so much. After being with a man that had convinced her that she should always be the one to bend over backwards to please him, it was something she did without any real thought to her own well being. With J she had to be careful. Doing what he asked without thought to what it could do to her could prove dangerous, had already proven deadly. She knew better than to lose herself again.

A bang downstairs, something that sounded very much like a gunshot, drew her attention and she glanced over at the clock. It was after midnight. J should be home by now. And that cackle that followed the shot let her know that he was.

Speak of the devil.

Footsteps echoed up the stairs and she tried to pull herself together, to look like she had done more than mope on the couch in his absence. He was humming, muttering the words in some semblance of a tune as he opened the door to their room. His suit looked slightly mussed and she could see places where his facepaint had been smeared, nearly gone in some places.

Smiling, she rolled her eyes at him and his horrible rendition of Led Zeppelin.

"You seem cheerful," she said, retreating farther into the crook of the couch.

"Course I'm cheerful, sugar." Grinning like a fox, he sat on the arm of the couch beside her. "You still doing alright?"

It was almost funny how quickly he abandoned the Joker persona once he was with her. Yes, it was part of him, always dwelling below the surface. In many ways it was all of him. He was the Joker.

And yet, sometimes when he was with her, he was not. Sometimes he was just J, and she was fine with that. Felt spoiled to get that little part of him that no one else even knew existed.

This was Jack as she had known him. This was the man that had first come into the coffee shop and enchanted her, made her feel something for the first time in too long. This was her little secret, one she swore she would never tell. It was too rich, too special, to share with anyone else.

For a moment she took him in, all well-fitted suit and painted face with fading green hair. He looked every bit as dangerous as she knew him to be, and yet he was grinning at her like the rising sun. Not that menacing little smirk of his, no, he was downright beaming at her. It nearly took her breath away, and when he swooped down to kiss her she allowed him to suffocate what little air she had left.

He sprawled her beneath him on the couch, stealing her air and eating up the little sounds she transferred to him. His tongue plundered her mouth, gloved hands pushed up her shirt and splayed over her skin.

It was so much so fast and she was dizzy from it. Each time she tried to draw breath he closed his lips over hers as though he meant to suffocate her. His thumb grazed her nipple and she gave an involuntary shudder as she tried and failed to gasp for air.

Too much, she couldn't breathe, couldn't think.

When she pushed against his chest he broke away for just a moment before going for her neck, his hand moving to cradle the back of her head. Panting for breath, she drew a long, shuddering breath through her nose. Inhaled the scent of his coat. All the gunpowder, gasoline, sweat, and…something else. Something subtle and floral with hints of vanilla.

Perfume.

Winter overtook her insides and she pushed hard at his shoulders, any heat he had been building within her vanishing completely. The sleeve of his coat smelled like perfume, expensive perfume at that. At some point during that party he had been close enough to a woman to come home smelling like her.

His tongue swept over her jaw and she hissed as though burned. "Stop."

Barely lifting his head, he raised an eyebrow at her. "What?"

Throat tight and heart pounding, she attempted to retreat further into the couch. "I said stop it!"

A very strange surge of jealousy shot through her and she shoved him off of her completely. What if he had cheated? He'd been gone long enough, there was plenty of time to hook up with some rich floozy at the fundraiser. It made her sick to even think about, had her eyes tearing before logical thought could intercept the stray train her thoughts had taken.

One last shove at his shoulders and she was sitting up, kneeling on the couch to get in his face. "If you think you can stay out all night at some swanky party fucking Gotham's elite and then come home to fuck me too, you're in for some massive disappointment."

The lines of his face became more noticeable as he frowned at her, brow knitting in confusion. "Fucking Gotham's… You realize that is a figure of speech, right, sweetheart?"

Another slow inhale meant to calm her nerves had her once again inhaling that floral scent and it nearly made her sick. "A figure of speech didn't get perfume on your jacket, fucker. Who was she?"

He laughed then. Actually threw back his head and cackled at the ceiling as Harley tried to get up from the couch. Immediately the smile faded from his face and he caught her with a quick hand, pushing her back against the cushions.

"I haven't been fucking anyone else, sugar." With measured patience, he sighed and tried to thumb her hair away from her face. "We've talked about this. No one else wants me, just you."

That didn't sit well with her. His phrasing seemed off. After all, he had been in full form at that party, had even threatened an old man according to the reports. The girl he fucked may not have wanted him, but that didn't mean he didn't want her. That thought alone was enough to nearly make her sick.

"She didn't have to want you." She felt heat rise to her face, insides twisting painfully as she gave life to that thought. "All you needed to do was bend her over one of those nice catering tables…"

"You shut the fuck up right now." That tone left no room for argument and he was on his feet in a flash, beginning to pace the floor in front of the television. "I have no idea what the hell has gotten into you or what the fuck you are on about, but I reeeeeaalllyyyyy don't like it."

Her eyes burned and logic began catching her ridiculous allegations. Perhaps she had been overreacting, perhaps it had been her imagination. But she couldn't stop now, not when she had already made this mess. All of her rage and insecurity from earlier came rearing up and suddenly she felt ready to blow everything they had built to shit around them.

"I just want to know why the hell you were getting cozy with some chick at Harvey Dent's party when you couldn't even get your hands on Harvey Dent." It was barely more than a whisper, but from the way his head snapped in her direction she knew he had heard. "The sleeve of your coat still smells like her perfume."

He made a bitter sound that could have been laughter. "Fuck you for even implying… Christ! I'm a lot of things, Harley, but rapist isn't one of them. I threatened the, uh, the Dawes girl that Harvey has been shacking up with. Got real close and held a knife to her, hoping to draw out Dent. Didn't work, but it did get Batman's attention." His hand went to his side for just a moment and prodded carefully, shrugging before going on. "So, yes, I got close enough to Rachel Dawes to threaten her, told her a nice little story that you inspired about how I got my scars, and then I threw her out a window. But I promise I didn't fuck her or anyone else at that party."

Harley snorted and allowed her tongue to run away with her. "Well, at least you draw the line somewhere."

Hands shaking in rage reached toward her before his fingers curled unevenly into palms. Immediately she regretted those words, but anger refused to allow her to apologize. No, she wasn't sorry, wasn't anywhere near it.

Shoulders hunched and head tilted, he began removing his top layers of clothing. "You're testing my patience, Harley."

Testing his patience? She nearly laughed at the way it made her bristle to hear that. Was she supposed to feel bad for testing his patience when he had pushed her hard enough to kill a man? She wanted to push back. Wanted to see just how completely she could break him for what he had made her do.

"What are you going to do?" The challenge settled in the air like static behind him. "Crush my head with a sledgehammer like I did to that poor fuck in the slaughterhouse? Or maybe you'll finish what Victor Zsasz started and slit my throat? Or maybe you'll throw me out a window too! Huh? I'm not fucking scared of you, Jack!"

In three long strides he was back to her, hands clad in those purple gloves and his shirt sleeves rolled up. "Don't call me that. You know better than that."

Chin raised stubbornly, she narrowed her eyes. "What? Am I pushing you too far, Jack?"

Sarcasm dripped off her words and it hardly surprised her when he bent down to leer over her, hot breath wafting over her face. Even with his makeup she swore she could see his face turning red, the creases in his forehead deepening as black eyes pinned her in place.

"You are really starting to piss me off, Harley." His voice was thick and low, seeping over her skin like mud.

She laughed in his face, quick and bitter. "I. Don't. Care. Jack."

Those deceptively strong hands gripped the collar of her shirt and hoisted her off the couch to spin her around. With measured patience he took a breath, visibly trying to calm himself. There was no way in hell she was allowing that to happen.

"Come on." The dare came from somewhere deep within her, some black pit where her self-preservation should have been. "What are you going to do, Jack? Hit me? Come on! I want you to do it! Fucking hit me!"

He drew in a shaking breath. "Stop calling me that, Harley."

At his sides, his hands were curled into fists. She was getting to him now and it only egged her on. Abandoning all sense, she lunged forward and shoved him.

Or, at least, she meant to.

On reflex he grabbed her wrists and forced her back against the wall, holding her arms on either side of her head. Her teeth gnashed and she tried to lash out at him.

"Coward," she spat. "Didn't even have the guts."

Clicking his tongue in disapproval, he drew her hands together above her head and pinned them in place with one hand. The other came to rest on her clavicle, leather-clad thumb teasing at the idea of pressing into her throat.

"It's not about guts, Harrrleeeyyy." Licking his lips, he surveyed the trail of her arms and traced them down to the hand at her neck. "It's about knowing when someone is trying to push your buttons, trying to make you do things you'll regret. You seem awfully good at that today, don't you?"

With a grimace, he adjusted his body to block any escape she may attempt. It just added fuel to her fire, had her squirming against him in attempts to have another go at shoving him. She wanted to hurt him, wanted to bite and claw and pull at his hair until he understood the war raging in her mind.

"Now you." Those black eyes darted across her face and his tongue snaked out to poke at the scar on his bottom lip. "You are just begging for trouble because you're angry with me. You're lucky I'm in a good mood, or that pret-ty lit-tle mouth of yours could have gotten you in deep trouble." That hand moved to grip her throat, pressing just hard enough to limit her air. "Wouldn't want that now, uh, would we?"

Glowering at him, she lifted her head and spat in his face. "Fuck. You."

Saliva dripped down his cheek as he bared his teeth in a grin. "That's what I thought."

That pressure got worse. Suddenly she was gasping for air, fighting against the hand restricting her airway. She had been waiting for this, for him to get properly angry with her. They were equal now. Both tangled in rage and hate and love…

Love.

Funny how attaching that word to her feelings for him had seemed like such a stretch. She recognized it now that it was staring at her head on. All of the hate and anger, it was all a front. A wall she had put up to protect herself from this man, the way he made her heart race and lit her insides up with swarms of butterflies every time he looked at her right. Love was terrifying, love was something she had sworn herself away from after it had led her astray a few too many times.

But she recognized it, knew without a sliver of a doubt that she was falling in love with the man holding her to that wall.

Struggling for breath, she wriggled her wrists in his hand. Tried harder than ever to escape that revelation and put space between them.

The muscles in the arm holding her wrists flexed beneath the skin. It made her lick her lips as she glanced from that arm back to his face. They were nearly pressed against each other, his body heat radiating straight into her. And now not only did she realize she was in love with him, but this position they were in was starting to turn her on.

He was teasing her, trying to seem threatening while not actually doing anything to harm her. After all, he was making certain she still had enough give in her throat to breathe, simply wanted to see what she would do when he pinned her. And somehow knowing the most dangerous man in Gotham would never actually harm her had her nearly melting at his touch.

All of his strength and power and that awful sense of humor, somehow it was exactly what she wanted, what she needed. He was the perfect cocktail of destruction, the kind of man she had craved on lonely nights in that shithole apartment. It was no wonder she had welcomed him into her life with open arms, clung to him like a life raft, and now found herself drowning in the realization that she had fallen hard enough to be dizzy from it.

"Jack…" Her throat strained at the name and she saw the way it made him twitch.

"Ah-ah, none of that. I'm sick of you saying that name. See, Harley, this is why you don't want to make me angry." His voice had taken on that sickly-sweet tone, made her eyes snap up to his. Those black holes had returned, drew her in with all their gravity and horror. She was lost to them instantly. "And I'm not really angry with you, sugar. I just want you to realize what a waste of air those little threats of yours were. No sense in wasting perfectly good air, hmm? Because now that you have to work for it, it's a little harder to think of nasty things to say. I like the fight you've got in ya, but you've got to have something worth fighting for." He grinned, sharing a slow deliberate breath with her. "Now, I'm going to let go and you're going to say something nice or fight with me about something worthwhile, understand?"

Though she wasn't certain she agreed, she nodded all the same. His hand fell away from her throat to rest against her collarbone. Immediately she gasped for breath, her head growing light and her knees weak. That odd scent of his filled her lungs, the lingering floral gone with his coat, and she felt her breathing hitch. She was aware of their closeness once again. Aware of his breath against her neck and the dampness between her legs.

He moved again and she could feel his hard length against her thigh. Either he was still turned on from earlier, or this was getting him hot too. Maybe both. It didn't matter.

"Fuck, J." It left her lips in a shuddering breath and she moved her hips in search of friction.

His mouth opened as though he intended taunt her and then he paused. Those black orbs searched her face again as a grin took his lips. "Haaarleey. Are you turned on, sugar?"

Cocking his head to the side, he leaned close and nipped at her ear. Immediately she melted into him, a moan escaping on her breath. His hand left her neck to move down her torso with careful precision. Brushed against her breast, roamed over her ribs, and came to rest between her thighs.

"Awfully hot." A quiet chuckle ghosted over her skin. "Do you like when I'm a little rough with you?"

She wanted to deny it. Wanted to pretend like rage still consumed her, like this was a clever ruse to get free. But the longer they stood pressed together, that closeness became all she could focus on.

There was still violence in her fingertips, rage burning in her stomach. But all of it was manifesting into raw lust. Became an insistent need to claim him as her own, to ruin him to any other woman. To erase all doubt in her mind that he was hers and only hers.

"Haaarrleeeeeyy, I asked you a question." His grip on her wrists tightened as he began kissing her neck. "Do you like it when I'm rough with you, sugar?"

His teeth grazed her flesh and she gasped and writhed beneath him. "Yes. Fuck. Yes."

When he smiled against her neck she could feel the mutilated skin of his scars curving. "Mmmmm. How rough do you like it?"

She had no idea how to answer that, no grasp on what her limits were. All she knew was that, for so much of her life, she had been forced to deal with more than she was comfortable with. Had been wound tight with stress and anxiety and responsibility, and she just wanted to forget. Being dominated had always been high on her list of kinks because it seemed the logical way for someone to take all the weight and responsibility from her.

And right now, with him pinning her arms above her head and pressing up against her, she wanted nothing more than to trust him. To willingly hand over that control and let him prove that he deserved her affection.

"I asked you a question, sweetheart." That hand between her legs pressed hard against the seam of her jeans. Hard enough that she could feel the full force of his fingers through the fabric. "Tell daddy how rough you like it."

Rolling her eyes, she let out an exasperated huff. "Never gonna call you daddy."

His lips ghosted over her stitches. "Stop avoiding the question."

She sighed in response. The few other sexual partners she had been with were all quite boring in their tastes. Same few positions, hair pulling was a rare treat, biting and clawing nearly out of the question. She'd never been with a man like J and she had no idea where to even begin.

"I don't know," she replied at length. "I…I've only ever fantasized about it. Never had a guy that was into…anything, really. Last boyfriend was vanilla as they come."

His attempt to bite back a smile failed and he stared her down like a shark that had smelled blood. "Vanilla men, addicted to missionary. Where's the fun in that?" He snorted at the very idea and pressed against her hard enough to let her feel his arousal. "But you have fantasized about better things, so clearly you like it. Tell me, sugar, what do you fantasize about? You want me to tie you up? Spank you for being naughty? Whatever you want, first thing that comes to mind."

That question sent her mind reeling. Dozens of things she had never tried popped into her mind too quick to put into coherent thoughts. Should he tie her up? Maybe blindfold her? She was near certain she didn't want him to actually slap her, but spanking didn't seem out of the question. A lot of people were into that.

"Fuck, Harley, I can see the gears in your brain turning." Though he laughed, his face didn't light up with it. "Stop over thinking things. Tell me the first thing that comes to mind. What do you want me to do to you?"

Frowning, she tried to process that question for a moment.

Shaking his head, he pressed his forehead against hers. "First thing that comes to mind, sugar. It ain't rocket science. Tell me where to start and we can ex-per-im-ent from there."

"I want you to fuck me against the wall." The response was almost immediate and surprised them both. "I…I want you to take control. I trust you to figure out what I like."

The thought seemed to make him shudder and his eyes rolled shut as he nodded. When he looked at her again, something in those black holes seemed to change. His tongue prodded at his scars as he began unbuttoning her jeans.

"A whole list of kinky shit to choose from, and you go for a dirty fuck against the wall." It seemed to amuse him and he grinned as he began to push down her pants.

When he let go of her hands and she immediately began to loosen his tie. Shaking his head, he grabbed her wrists and pushed them away.

"Did I say you could do that, sugar?" Though his voice was teasing, there was an unmistakable edge to it.

"No."

"No." Wetting his lips, he sunk to his knees in front of her, leading her jeans and panties to the floor. "See, if you're going to give me control, you need to learn to do as I say."

Chuckling at the very idea, she shook her head. "Fat chance."

For a moment he glanced up from removing his gloves, the idea of a smile playing at his lips. "We'll see."

Fingers trailed lightly up her leg as he rose to his feet. For a moment they hovered above the damp hair between her legs. A smirk tugged at his scars and she watched the paint crack around the expression.

Two fingers entered her so quickly she thought her knees would give out. It drew a cry from her lips and her hands gripped helplessly at the wall behind her. For a moment he paused, allowing her body to adjust and accommodate him. And once she had, he was using those to fingers to fuck her mercilessly.

His thumb moved and bumped her clit as he pressed and curled those fingers into her. Cursing and moaning, she gripped his hair despite the noise of protest that he made. It didn't matter, she didn't care, because he was thirty seconds into touching her and she was already seeing stars. If they kept up like this, he would send her over the edge in a matter of minutes.

"Now, there is a catch to this, sweetheart." That sickening-sweet voice drew her half-lidded eyes to his. "You're only allowed to come once tonight."

She struggled to understand what he was telling her through the sensations coursing through her. "What?"

"I'm only going to let you come once." And just as suddenly as those fingers had entered her, they were gone. "We're gonna do it together, though, don't worry. I was just getting you warmed up."

Practically dizzy from the speed at which things had picked up, Harley heard the cling of metal and rustling of fabric. It took her a moment to process that his pants and boxers were around his ankles. A warm hand came to grip her upper thigh, making her breathing hitch.

Licking his lips, he gripped the other thigh as well. "Alright, sugar, put your arms around my neck."

Without hesitation, she complied. Wrapped her arms around him and felt her heart rate pick up as he lifted her. Long, slender legs wrapped around his waist on instinct as he lined them up and shuddered as he entered her.

The moment her hips rolled to take him in further, her mouth latched onto his. Kissed him until the strain on her stitches made her face ache, until she was tracing those red-stained scars with her tongue and reveling in the taste of greasepaint. It made him sigh and groan against her skin, all while their hips found rhythm together. And once they had, he was easily moving against her, filling her and making her moan against his skin at an almost lazy pace.

But neither of them would be satisfied with a slow grind against the wall, not really. Not when her fingernails were digging into the back of his neck and she was trying to encourage him to move faster each time she undulated against him. The moment he complied, she gritted her teeth and hissed against them.

"You like that?" The strain of holding her came through in his voice.

"Yes!" Unfocused eyes searched his face as she gave him a weak smile.

"Is this what you wanted?" He moved their bodies back and slammed her against the wall.

Her answering cry had him grinning and running his tongue against the shell of her ear. Each thrust was met seamlessly, her breath heavy against his neck. Each time he pulled back and crashed forward, she answered in kind. Made certain to grind her clit against him and closed her eyes when stars began to return to her vision.

It was almost sweet, the way that fleeting moment of pain mixed with the sensations coursing through her the moment her back hit the wall. This was even better than she had imagined it, she decided. Even with the strain of holding onto him and the way her muscles burned with each movement. They would both be thoroughly exhausted by the end of this and she wondered vaguely if she was interrupting any plans he had for the night.

The thought almost made her laugh, had her smiling against his neck as she bit back giggles. After the fuss he had caused at the fundraiser tonight, she was certain there was a whole mess of things he should be seeing to.

The man that had just killed the commissioner and one of the most respected judges in the city, the man who crashed Harvey Dent's fundraiser and worked the city's elite into an absolute terror, was now whispering her name like a secret against her skin. His greasepaint covered her neck, her face, and trailed in patches down her arms. Patches of skin were becoming exposed on his face, the colors of his face bleeding oddly into the white paint.

One of her hands moved to his face, her thumb sweeping along his jawline and taking paint with it. He didn't pay it any mind, just groaned and let his eyes slip shut to focus solely on her touch. Her palm pressed against his cheek, thumb tracing the uneven ridges of his scar. A quiet sound of approval egged her on and soon she was cupping his face in her hands as she kissed him. Slowly, ever so slowly, the paint began to fade and she found the man beneath.

It didn't all come away, stubborn bits of red and white clung to the crevices of his face and the black around his eyes seemed a permanent fixture. But the idea was there, his skin showing through paint in uneven patches. Greasepaint covered her hands now, mixed in swirls of red and white with her pale skin.

He was a part of her now, painted and stained across her skin and transferred to everything she touched. And that was how it had to be.

Their eyes met for a brief moment and she swore he read her mind. Could see every thought laid out like a map around her insides and through her soul. His teeth barred against that vulnerable way she saw him and he pushed into her with a vengeance for it.

This was what he had been craving all along, this merciless pace and his fingers gripping her thighs hard enough to bruise. She cursed and screamed and took everything he had for her like it was a gift. Her muscles tightened around him each time she drew him in, made him curse and spit right back at her, whispering things in her ear that would have been vile if he'd been capable of making them intelligible.

Fingernails clawed at his shoulders, curled into his hair and pulled. His breath was coming fast, sweat making his shirt cling to his torso like a second skin. Eventually holding her on his own became too much and he crushed her against the wall, grinding against her and eating up the way she moaned in approval with her mouth against his.

With the slight shift of position, she readjusted her weight and began to use the wall as support. Leaned her shoulders against it and dug her heels into his back. Her skin felt heavy and too warm, like a prison for the ecstasy she was on the verge of. Just a bit more and she would break out of it completely, burn straight through her skin and take him with her. They could burn in her flames together and she was certain he would thank her for it.

"Getting close, sugar?" It sounded like he was trying to taunt her, though exhaustion saturated his breath.

"Mmmmhmmm." She threw her head back against the wall and held him like an anchor.

His head rested against the wall next to hers, turning just enough to let his lips brush against her jaw. She could hear the way his breath was catching, picked up just how close he was to losing himself. Memorized the skin she had exposed beneath his paint and the way the colors all bled together in the places they still clung.

This was hers, only hers. Only she was allowed to share these moments with him. It had been stupid to think he would give another woman the privilege of holding him close and seeing him vulnerable. Still she craved that assurance, needed to hear him say it.

"You'll only fuck me like this, right, J?" Though the words came out in haggard breaths, he latched onto them all the same.

"Only you, sugar." And he nipped at her skin for good measure as her fingernails dug into his scalp. "Never gonna be anyone else."

"And – ah, fuck – I promise it's only you." Her forehead rested against his, her entire body clinging to him. "No one else. Not ever."

"I'll kill 'em if they try."

It wasn't a joke and they both knew it, but she grinned anyway. His breath was humid against her neck, each panting exhale making her infinitely more aware of exactly what she was doing to him. Encouraged her to push those heels into his back and draw him into her as completely as possible. Held him there and moved against him, lighting up her insides with fire.

A stream of curses were hissed against her neck as his muscles went rigid and his fingernails dug into her thighs. With a satisfied grin she realized that she'd made him come first, that for all his talk she had still managed to outlast him.

And ultimately it was that satisfaction that sent her spiraling after him. The next movement of his hips ripped her mind completely from her body. Had her burying her face in his shoulder as she cursed and screamed. Fire consumed her, made her burn in his arms like a phoenix on the edge of rebirth. Her lips caressed any trace of exposed skin she could find as she struggled to continue holding herself up against the way her entire body shuddered through the waves of pure flame lighting her up.

Her insides turned to ash as those waves subsided. Had her crumbling against him and she felt herself begin to slip down the wall.

"Can't stay up." Even as she said it, her legs were going slack around him.

He grunted words she didn't quite understand as he eased out of her and stepped back. On unsteady legs he took a few steps back, making certain her legs would hold her before allowing her to stand on her own. With shaking knees, she stumbled over to the bed across the room and allowed it to catch her as she collapsed.

A moment later he was next to her, their breath still heavy, limbs sweat-drenched and shaking. His arm fell across her stomach and he pulled her close, nuzzling against her neck.

"Was that everything you wanted, sugar?" Hearing him so out of breath and completely sated made her grin.

"Yeah." She nodded and gulped in all the air she could manage. "Hell of a workout."

Even his laugh was weak. "Yep. Just wait til next time. Think I'll tie you up."

She smiled despite herself. "Only if I get a safe word."

"I think you've already got one, sweetheart." A light hand brushed the hair away from her face and she looked over at him.

"Do I?" Breath began to come more evenly, her voice gaining some strength.

"Jack." The name rolled off his tongue like acid. "You call me Jack and I can guar-an-tee I'll stop whatever the hell I'm doing."

Her brow furrowed and she shook her head. "But you don't like it. I don't want to call you something you don't like."

Shrugging, he caught her eyes. "I don't like it because it's not who I am anymore. When you say it, it's…different. You're not calling me Jack because of memories of the soldier I was, you're saying it because I told you it was my name. Shouldn't have done that. But I can't seem to stop you, so I think this is a good use for it."

"I like it." Her thumb traced across his lips and up his scarred cheek. "Certainly easy to remember."

"Yeah, well, hopefully this way I'll hear it less."

Though she tensed for a moment, fearing that he would come to hate the name even more if she used it, she couldn't help liking this agreement. The chuckle he gave put her at ease and she rolled to lie on her back again.

Silence spread between them, broken only by his breath in her ear. Exhaustion was making her feel too heavy, her eyes closing no matter how hard she tried to keep them open. Sleep would claim her soon and she only hoped he would follow. After nearly two days without sleep and endless running, he was bound to be even more sleep-deprived than she.

"We fit, you know." His voice was warm and she did her best to look at him, though her eyes remained half-lidded. "The Joker and the Harlequin. It makes sense. Nobody's ever fit me like you do."

For a moment she was confused, not entirely certain how he had put those things together. And then she remembered that day at the coffee shop when she had told him her name. When she had admitted that she'd like to take her mother's maiden name and he commented on how the name could be switched about. Leave it to him to allow that name to stick with him through everything they'd done.

She snorted, rolling her eyes. "You know Quinzel isn't my real last name."

"Not legally, no. But you'll always be Harley Quinzel to me, sugar. Harley Quinn would be one hell of a sidekick name."

That made her laugh right out, her spent lungs protesting and making her cough.

"Are you shitting me?" Try as she might, she couldn't manage to look cynical through her giggles. "Sidekick? What happened to partner in crime?"

He snickered, ghosting kisses against her jaw. "Fine, partner in crime."

Smiling broadly, she rolled on her side to face him. "You going to get me a fancy suit like yours?"

His lips moved to trace her stitches almost reverently. "Nah, I'll get you a sexy jester costume. Something skin tight to show off your tits and ass. Nobody will even put up a fight if you try to rob a bank like that."

Turning her head, she caught him in a kiss. "But you said yourself that I don't have bank robbing in me."

Even through sleep she could see those black eyes start to burn. "We're way past bank robbing, anyway, sugar. I know what else you've got in you."

A flash of brain matter had her scooting away from him, but he caught her and held her against him. As though he sensed her stomach turning, he shushed her and shook his head.

"I won't ask you to do it again, I promise. And I'm a man of my word." Warm hands held her like an anchor, brought her back to him and erased the horrors of her mind. "Anything you do from here on out you do because you want to."

Though she tried to smile up at him, it was lost in a yawn. "Right now, I really want to sleep."

"Then go to sleep, sugar." He kissed her one last time gentle enough to steal her breath.

Their fingers laced against her stomach and she closed her eyes, feeling perfectly at ease with the world. She was in love with the Joker and she was absolutely certain that, in his own strange way, he loved her right back.


	10. House of Wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harley admits she has some feelings.

"Well I think I'm gonna burn in hell  
Everybody burn the house right down  
And say what I wanna say  
Tell me I'm an angel  
Take this to my grave  
Or tell me I'm a bad man  
And kick me like a stray."

~My Chemical Romance "House of Wolves"

///

They needed a better coffee maker.

The age-yellowed machine had clearly seen better days. It groaned and gurgled as dirty-colored water drizzled into the carafe below. Even a good cleaning seemed unlikely to save the poor thing at this point and Harley very much wished she could put it out of its misery. Doing so, however, would mean denying herself caffeine, and seeing as it was too early for even the sun to greet the day, weak coffee would suffice.

But that didn't change the fact they absolutely needed a better coffee maker. And better coffee, while they were at it.

Harley sighed as she added it to her mental laundry list of things she desperately needed to pick up from the store. Coffee maker, good coffee, groceries that weren't take-out, clothes, sheets, make-up, toothpaste, maybe a water filter to save them from certain death the murky looking tap water was threatening them with…

Unfortunately, her list of needs seemed endless and the likelihood of personally retrieving any of it seemed to get slimmer by the hour. Especially since J had apparently murdered two security guards from city hall while she slept and made a threat on the mayor's life.

At least she knew what they would be doing today.

Or, more accurately, what he would be doing while she stayed home and stared at the paint chipped walls and exposed rafter ceiling.

The shuddering and screeching of pipes within the walls drew her attention and she added the idea of getting a plumber onto the list of things they needed around the warehouse. This was the problem with staying in places that weren't actually meant for extended occupation. Going without a few basic necessities for a few days didn't seem like a big deal, but the longer Harley went without easily accessible food or proper blankets, the more she longed to be back in her apartment.

Not that the apartment had been much better. In the winter the pipes in her old place would sometimes freeze, once bursting and causing water damage to the apartment below her. Back when she was struggling to get by when living on her own, she never really had food in the cupboards. At least, not until J gave her that money. She did have blankets, though. Blankets and makeup and a functional coffee pot.

The old place also never had a lack of things for her to do, either. Lack of entertainment hadn't seemed like an issue until the night before. When J was attending Harvey Dent's party, Harley had no way to occupy herself other than the ancient television and the Chinese food Zak had ordered. It was fucking mind numbing. There weren't even any books. She'd checked J's desk five times over just in case one decided to magically appear. After coming up empty handed the fifth time, she had nearly stolen a page out of the battered notebook on the desk, only to realize he had filled every page with notes and diagrams about what appeared to be explosives.

No books, no paints, no music, no food, no makeup, no coffee, no fucking scrap paper to draw on.

If she didn't make it to the store soon, she was going to go absolutely stir crazy in that tiny studio apartment.

Eventually the coffee maker gave out with a wet cough, spitting the last of its brew into the carafe below. The liquid resembled weak tea rather than coffee, but she poured herself a cup all the same and choked it down black. Nearly gagging on the taste, she tried to remind herself that even weak coffee was still coffee. But after the second cup, she decided it wasn't worth suffering through more.

She left the rest for J, assuming he would be done showering soon. For a man that often looked like he hadn't seen soap or water in weeks, he sure as hell was taking a long time getting ready this morning.

And when the water finally stopped running and he emerged from the bathroom a short time later in jeans and an old t-shirt, she realized exactly what had taken him so long.

He was…clean.

Not just showered, where bits of warpaint still clung to his features and his hair stuck out in all directions. No, this was different. Impressive, even. His face was completely void of makeup, his hair neatly combed back, even his teeth seemed less yellow when he grinned at her.

Though it had only been a week, maybe two, since she had seen him like this, those weeks seemed like an eternity. This was how she had first met him, how she remembered him. Where the rest of Gotham saw a monster in a purple suit and facepaint, she got this. She got J, all bare-faced and beaming. It took the breath from her lungs, left her speechless and staring as he swept a stray curl away from his face.

When her gaze continued to hold him, his tongue snaked out across his lips and he quirked an eyebrow at her. "See something you like, sugar?"

His voice pulled her away from her thoughts and memories, left her blinking and smiling like an idiot. Trying to seem nonchalant, she shrugged and allowed herself one last sweeping once-over of his clean face and casual attire.

"You're all…casual looking. Don't you have a mayor to kill?" The question was supposed to be lighthearted, but the underlying sarcasm was not lost on him.

Lips twitching in an attempt to smile, he shook his head. "Really didn't pay much attention when you went through my desk, did ya?"

For a moment her brow furrowed, though she tried to mask her confusion. How had he known she had gone through his desk? She had been careful to put everything back in its place, as best she could tell. All she had been after was scrap paper, of which he had none.

"Did you know you clean as you go through things, sweetheart?" That smile didn't reach his eyes, his laugh came out as an agitated exhale. "Stack 'em all up in little piles. Disrupt the way I left things… What were you after anyway?"

His eyes were sparking, but it was unclear if he was actually angry with her. For all she knew, he could be acting angry just to get her defensive. It was no secret that he loved getting a rise out of her.

Taking a deep breath, she refused to allow herself to play his game. "I was bored."

"You were…bored?" The very idea seemed to confound him. "And you thought that made it okay to rearrange my desk?"

"I wasn't trying to rearrange it." Shrugging, she glanced from his smoldering eyes to the desk in question. "I wanted to draw and I was looking for scrap paper."

Admitting that made her feel like a child and his laughter didn't help. A high-pitched cackle shot from his throat to stab at her eardrums. It made her twitch, the smallness he suddenly thrust upon her seeming undeserved.

"That creative little mind of yours never stops going, does it?" Rubbing the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger, he shook his head at her in what seemed like relief. "Here I thought you'd been trying to spy and see what I was up to. But you…" He shook his head and wagged a finger at her. "You don't actually care, do ya? As long as you don't have to get your hands dirty, you'll let me do whatever the hell I want."

Screwing up her face, Harley shook her head. To make her sound so callous, so uncaring to the struggles of others, seemed incredibly unfair. She cared, of course she cared, but she wasn't going to stop him. Wouldn't dare so much as suggest he stop playing this game. He wouldn't listen if she tried.

"Your business is your business." With a casual shrug, she leaned back against the counter of the kitchenette.

Suspicion was clear on his face as he inclined his head toward her. "Is it now?"

Gaze faltering under his, she gave another shrug and crossed her arms. There was no good way to respond to him. No way she would avoid being backed into a corner, just like always. Some days she wished "agitate Harley" would stop being on the top of his to do list. Even so, he had caught her avoiding his question and now he was going to push the issue.

It wasn't that she was lying, per se. On the contrary, she truly felt his business should be his. That she should not be involved in any way, shape, or form when he ultimately burned down Gotham in an attempt to make his inner chaos reality. But she also knew that, as long as she was with him, his chaos would always be a part of them. And the moment that thought crossed her mind she felt her face darken. True to form, J seemed to see right through her and picked up on the insecurity and worry that creased her features.

"To an extent, yes." Her voice wavered as she spoke. "I'm not going to go through your notebooks and figure out your plans. I really just want to let you do whatever the hell you want out there and pretend like it won't come home with you. Cause I don't want to be part of it. I want you to come home and pretend like none of the outside world exists. But…I know it's…there's risk. You could fucking die, and then where would I be?"

Without missing a beat he grinned. "About sixty eight million dollars richer."

A reluctant smile took her face as she hooked her fingers in his belt loops. "You know I don't give a shit about money. I just want you. And if you manage to get yourself killed out there, or caught, or whatever, I will literally have no idea what to do with myself. Just…don't leave me alone, okay?"

"I can't promise shit like that, sugar." Though he tried to return her smile, his eyes were distracted. "There's a damn good chance that one of these nights I'm not gonna come home, and if that happens Zak and the boys at the house already have instructions to get you settled somewhere and erase all evidence that you ever had any involvement with me."

For a moment she considered that. Thought about being dropped back into her old life after the whirlwind he had taken her on. After everything she had been through, the adventure that lay ahead, she wasn't certain she could ever go back to normal. The coffee shop probably missed her, Annika certainly did, just as she missed Ann. But if the Joker were to just disappear, if she were to be left to her own devices, the life she had left behind no longer seemed like the path she was destined for. He had changed her, rerouted the course of her fate, and she had no way of ever properly thanking him for that.

"You know, I don't think I could just go back to my old life," she said because it had to be said.

He laughed at her for saying it. "Sweetheart, you don't have to. You think I haven't already considered that? You were always too good for that place, and now I'm making sure you never have to serve coffee to some stuffy three piece ever again."

It was flattering, truly it was. He had thought far enough ahead to make certain that once she was disenchanted to the life she had lived, she could move on to bigger and better things. Yet, once again, she felt that control of her life was completely out of her hands.

That made her anxious.

She trusted J, of course she trusted him. Since the day he found out about her financial struggle he had done nothing but take care of her. This was no different. He was continuing to make sure she wasn't starving or homeless and she appreciated the hell out of it. But no matter how much she appreciated his effort and trusted him to the ends of the earth, she hated feeling like she no longer held the key to her own destiny. Everything revolved around him, like those black holes in his eyes had become the gravitational pull at the center of her universe.

For a moment she debated voicing these thoughts and it must have shown on her face because he was on her immediately, eyes searching her face in their ever vigilant way. His tongue snaked across his lips, face so close to hers that she could practically taste him there.

Unwilling to submit to his verbal interrogations, she voiced her opinion before he had the chance to playfully taunt her for internalizing feelings. "I really wish you would share these things with me as you plan them. I don't like you controlling my life without asking for my input."

This seemed to take him by surprise. Suddenly he was standing straight and blinking at her as though she had grown a second head.

His silence gave her a chance to go on and she took it and allowed her mouth to run. "I don't mind – in fact I'm thankful – for everything you have done to help me so far. I'm glad you took me out of my comfort zone, I'm happy to have gotten away from that shithole apartment and I miss the coffee shop, but because of the people not the work. I just…I want to know what's going on. I need you to tell me things so that I don't get blindsided by them when they happen."

Once again he laughed, the sound starting low and growing to a cruel cackle by the end. It chilled her right to the core, had her stepping back and pressing against the counter in hopes of disappearing into it.

"Aw, Harley, you're a riot sometimes." Teeth barred like a shark, he gripped her shoulders and laughed again before cutting himself off abruptly, catching her gaze with blazing eyes. "You make it sound so simple. Like every step of this is planned out and meticulous. Like I've calculated every last reaction down to the second. Now, I'm good at reading people and strategizing, but I'm not a fortune teller, sugar. I'm just flexible, I adapt to situations."

"I'm not asking you to predict the future, I'm asking to know what you're planning." Running a hand through her mess of hair, she sighed. "I'm perfectly capable of being flexible, I would just like to know what I'm getting into before it happens. You keep dragging me along through all of your bullshit, but you never tell me what you're actually doing – what we are doing – until we're already in the thick of it and I'm forced to react."

It was no secret that she was referring to what had happened with Brian and that agitated lick of his lips told her that he caught on.

"I don't plan things, Harley, I strategize."

Had she not been working so hard to get him to open up, it may have made her laugh. "Jesus Christ, could you avoid the subject any harder?"

"Fuck, Harley, I don't know what you…want me to tell you."

"Usually the truth is a good starting point. What are you up to? What do you have planned for me? Just… just…talk to me."

He sighed, tongue snaking over his lips as he pushed a stray curl out of his face. "I don't do that, Harley."

Blinking, she tried to wrap her head around that response. "I'm sorry, what?"

That was all it took for him to break away from her and begin pacing the length of the room.

"I don't just give away my next move," he snapped. "Especially not to civilians. You already know too much just by being here."

"BULLSHIT!"

"Self preservation."

Her heart sunk. He may as well have driven one of his many knives into her and twisted. Last night she had been certain it was there, that spark that would weld them together and make them one. Funny how daylight turned them into satellites, simply passing at night during orbit. He may have positioned himself at the center of her universe, but it seemed she was not even a planet in his.

"Oh." Leaning against the counter, she crossed her arms tightly enough to keep her heart from clawing out of her chest. "I didn't realize…"

There was a sickness twisting her stomach, her heartbeat pounding against her temples. She dug her fingers into her sides, tried to hold herself together against the sting of his words.

The heat of his body radiated into her as he stepped close again. "What didn't you realize, sweetheart?"

Shrinking in on herself, Harley hung her head. "I didn't realize…" She took a breath and willed away the shaking in her voice. "That you didn't trust me."

Every muscle in his body seemed to tense. "I don't trust anyone."

It felt as though her very soul turned to ice. "You're supposed to trust me."

"And why's that, sweetheart?" His lips peeled back in a smile as he gently hooked a finger under her chin to lift her face.

And that was really the shitty thing about all of this. No matter how angry she was, how badly she wanted to tell him to go straight to hell, he rendered her incapable. It was nearly impossible for her to decide if he was being serious or simply trying to get her worked up.

She met his eyes reluctantly, knowing that the moment he looked at her those black eyes would suck her in. It was like a trance, a spell he had cast to leave her incapable of lying to him.

"Because I trust you," she said honestly. "Because I'm not going to turn my back on you, no matter what. I can't."

"You…can't?" Licking his lips, he tilted his head and searched her face for any hint of a lie. "Of course you can. Why couldn't you?"

"Because…" Her tangled insides twisted painfully. "Just…because."

That didn't convince him, not even for a moment. Clearly it piqued his interest, though, because he leaned closer and dissected her with his eyes. If he stared long enough he would eventually find what she was hiding. She tried to avoid his eyes, to slip away from his grip, but he held tight to her. Refused to let her escape even when she pushed against his chest.

He snatched her hands up with his and held tight to her wrists, thumbs rubbing anxious patterns against her bones. "Try again, sweetheart. You can't turn your back on me because…"

"Because I love you, alright?"

Her eyes went wide with the confession, the careless way it slipped from her mouth taking her completely off guard.

The air felt thick, each breath taking too long to fill her lungs. Something near confusion crossed his face, brows knitting together as he studied her. He was looking for something in her face, some hint of a lie or a smile to show she was joking. And she wanted to give it to him. Goddamn she just wanted to laugh it off and tell him that she'd really had him going for a second. To do so, however, would make this whole conversation meaningless. She refused to cheapen the confession, no matter the consequences.

Her words hung between them and he continued to stare straight into her soul. Eventually he blinked and she began to see her words processing in his mind, the way the cogs turned and filed away her exact tone and the look of complete surprise at the quickness of her own tongue. Eventually he smiled, a shy look that seemed to suffer from secondhand embarrassment for her.

"You're too damn honest, sugar." Exhaling in a rush, he dropped her wrists and gave her shoulder a squeeze. "Let's hope you never get interrogated. You'd spill your guts in a second."

Was that rejection? She was almost certain it had to be. Not rejection of her entirely, simply a refusal to return the sentiment. Not that she had expected him to, only wished that he would.

It was, however, the best she was getting because by the time she had digested his complete lack of reaction, there came a knock at the door and he stepped away from her like he'd been burned.

"What?" he barked.

"We've gotta go, boss." That was Zak's voice, if Harley was not mistaken. "Car's all packed. The boys are getting anxious."

"Come in."

It was almost a relief to have that tension break. For J to suddenly snap into action and move to the coffee pot, leaving her with an odd sense of relief for having admitted her feelings.

"What the hell is this?" Disgust saturated every word, reminding Harley of the list she had meant to give him.

"Coffee pot's broken." Frowning at the dull liquid, she sighed. "I meant to tell you earlier, but we got off track. I have a whole list of shit to pick up."

"Alright, get your shoes on. We'll make a pit stop on the way home."

An objection seemed to be forming in Zak's mind, but the Joker cut him off with a severe look before it could reach his lips. Dumping the rest of the mediocre coffee down the sink, J turned his attention to Harley.

"You can make a list in the car." A smile tugged at J's lips as he left the carafe in the sink and moved to gather a spare suit coat from his scattered pile of clothes on the floor. "You're still a missing person, so it's not like we can just drop you off. Someone's bound to notice that charming smile of yours. I'm sure we can convince Zak to pick up whatever you need."

"Better give me a pay raise," Zak snorted. "Running errands isn't in my job description."

The Joker cackled. "Is twenty percent of the mob's fortune not enough?"

"I think running your errands should bump it up to a solid twenty-two." The smile that played on Zak's lips told Harley he was only half-joking, but he looked to be in better spirits than Harley had ever seen him. "But if you don't hurry we won't be getting any of it, so twenty percent will suffice."

"You heard the man, Harl, grab your shoes. Time to scoot." He gave her a swat on the bottom to get her moving, and suddenly it felt as though nothing had happened between them.

That confession of love was left to fall out of the air unacknowledged. His arm wrapped around her shoulders and they moved toward the stairs. There was barely time for her to grab her sneakers, let alone put them on, before they were out the door.

Shoes still in hand, she climbed in the back seat of the SUV. It surprised her to find the seat next to her already occupied, and surprised her even further when, rather than making the other man move, J climbed into the passenger seat.

The man next to her muttered something incomprehensible and leaned closer to her. Dark, wild eyes searched her face and fell upon her stitches. He let out a noise, half giggle and half panic, before scooting away from her.

Charming.

When J glanced into the back seat a smirk tugged at his lips. "Harley, this is Tom. Tommy-gun, say hi to Harley."

Barely meeting her eyes, the man nodded and waved. "Hi."

Looking from J back to Tom, Harley tried to make sense of the man next to her. He didn't seem like much of a thug, all shy smiles and fleeting eye contact. Why the Joker would hire a man like Tom was completely beyond her.

That is, until he suddenly reached out, grabbed her hand, and shook it firmly. Nodding his head, he muttered his approval. "Strong handshake. Good. Good. Yes. I like her."

Harley met Zak's eyes in the rearview mirror and pleaded with him to let her change seats.

The car shifted into gear in response.

Sometimes she had no idea what was going on in that man's head, but she was starting to severely doubt he actually had her best interests in mind. Heaving a sigh, she turned her attention back to the man beside her and his vice grip on her hand.

"Yes, it's very nice to meet you, Tom," she said tactfully, slowly extracting her hand from his.

From the front seat she could hear the Joker's laughter. Had she not been afraid of offending Tom, she would have flipped J off for sticking her back here. Instead, she refused to give him the upper hand and turned her dazzling customer service smile to Tom.

She allowed herself a moment to size him up, to decide what sort of person he would best respond to.

"Strong handshake."

Without missing a beat her mind picked up on the phrase, recognized the respect and confidence associated with such an exchange. That coupled with his continued lack of eye contact told her that he needed someone that would be respectful, but attentive. She would need to talk to him first, ask the questions.

"Do you work with the Joker?" she asked, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

Lacing her hands casually over her knee, she leaned forward slightly to show he had her full attention. His face twitched slightly, tongue sweeping over his lips. The psychology student in her rose to the occasion with fervor as she took note of every nervous movement and filed it all away.

Nervous ticks, erratic behavior, the lip licking was a common side effect of anti-schizophrenic drugs.

For a moment her mind recalled J's incessant lip licking, considered the idea of him allowing himself to be diagnosed with any sort of mental disorder, and then promptly dismissed the idea. If anything, he had some form of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder from his time in the military, but even that would be a hard sell. The problem with the Joker was that he displayed all sorts of symptoms, and absolutely none of them lined up with any one diagnosis. And, when it came down to it, she was just as inclined to believe he simply had a different set of morals and that his behavior came from a place of complete mental stability.

Well, maybe complete sanity was a stretch…

"I just started working for him, actually." Tom's reply had her eyes snapping back to him. "It's only been a couple of weeks."

Glancing toward the front seat, Harley caught J's eyes and knew he was listening to their conversation. For Tom's sake, she needed to be careful what she asked.

"Couple of weeks, huh?" Pressing her lips together in a tight line, she debated how best to phrase her question. "Do…do you enjoy it?"

"Of course!" His complete lack of hesitation told her he was being honest. "Boss says I could really be somebody around here. I've never had that kind of respect at a job. But the Joker thinks all of us are worth something, don't you boss?"

From the front seat, the Joker gave a noncommittal noise.

"He's modest," Tom said, his voice low. "But he's trying to help us, I know he is. He told Simmons the other day that he had this plan to make the voices go away. Cause Simmons hears 'em bad, you know? And the boss is gonna fix it soon as he figures out how. Is…is that why you're here? Is he helping you too?"

Frowning, Harley tried to figure out how best to respond. In a sense he was helping her, but certainly not in the way that Tom was implying.

"Well, yes, sort of. I…I was…attacked." She used a finger to trace the mutilated grin across her cheeks and Tom nodded emphatically, black hair falling into his face. "The boss is protecting me from the mob to make sure they can't finish what they started."

Tom's dark eyes grew wide. "The mob did that to you?"

"Sent one of their hitmen after me." A smile played at her face as she noticed J's shoulders tense. "I fought him off, though. And then the Joker came and –"

"That's about enough, Harley." The irritation in his voice had her biting back a laugh.

If he was going to sit her next to one of his henchmen like the man was some sort of practical joke, she would not only indulge the man's questions, but befriend him by the end of it.

"Come on, puddin', Tom and I are just –"

A warm hand pressed against her mouth, suffocating her words before she could finish the thought. Eyes growing wide, she retreated into the seat, the Joker following easily around the passenger seat.

"I said that was enough." His other hand wrapped around the back of her neck. "Don't make me spank you in front of the boys."

That last bit was a joke, but he didn't smile with it. Neither did she. He was testing her, that much was obvious. If she were to laugh at what he had just said, he would undoubtedly do it just to make her think twice next time.

Beside her, Tom was curling up in the seat, hiding his smiling face in attempts not to laugh.

"I bet Tom would like to see it, wouldn't you Tommy-gun?" Harley's face went red under his hand as he spoke. "You think Harley deserves to be spanked for not listening?"

Biting back laughter, Tom nodded and Harley felt the sting of betrayal. Here she had been making some sort of progress with him, befriending him and listening to his praise for his boss. She wondered when anyone other than she and J had talked to him like an equal rather than a bomb they needed to carefully diffuse.

And what did she get for doing so? Shit on, that's what.

"Don't you dare," she warned against his palm.

"What's that, sugar?" The spark in his eyes had her sinking back further in her seat, but that hand in her hair held tight. "You're into that sort of thing?"

Heat rushed to her face and again she tried to draw away from him.

"Ah-ta-ta, I don't think so, dollface." His lips twisted in a smirk that told her he was enjoying this far more than he had any right to.

She growled in frustration and tried to push his hand away from her mouth. And just like that he was on her, climbing over the center console and squeezing her jaw, his laughter filling the small space. The pressure on her stitches was too much and she whimpered when he pressed harder. His palm absorbed the pathetic plea for him to stop and she yelled to try to convey her pain and frustration. This was not a game she wanted to play anymore and every time she fought back, it only seemed to encourage him.

A sharp turn had J losing his balance slightly, his leg slipping and bumping Zak's arm. Though the contact had been brief, it seemed to stir something in the driver and Harley was certain she saw him glance at her in the rearview before he snarled.

"HEY!"

The cry seemed to surprise J and he let go of her quite suddenly to round his attention on its source. Jaw clenched, Zak refused to take his eyes from the road. "Would you sit? No offense, boss, but it's hard to drive with you blocking my view."

There was a snide comeback just behind the Joker's teeth, but he did as he was asked.

Relief washed over her as the car fell into silence. Resting her head against the glass, Harley caught Zak's eye in the rearview. The nod he gave her was almost too quick for her to catch, but she knew it was his way of accepting her thanks.

Carefully she brought a hand up to her face, rubbing at the sore places where her stitches had tugged too hard. Everything seemed to be intact, but she suddenly wished she had brought the antibiotic cream with her.

"You alright, sugar?" J's voice was quiet, almost ashamed.

Their eyes met in the rearview and for once she could have sworn he was about to apologize.

"Yeah." She glanced sidelong at Tom, who seemed distracted by something outside. "Stitches are sore."

A moment's hesitation before he cleared his throat. "I probably didn't help with that. Forget about 'em sometimes, you know? Not used to having someone so…fragile."

She couldn't help laughing at the way he emphasized the word, knowing full well she would never stand for it. "Oh, that's bullshit. I'm not fragile. If the coward who gave me this charming grin would have stuck around, he would have ended up worse than me."

It was probably a lie, a stretch of the truth at bare minimum. Had Zsasz stuck around, she would probably be dead. But J didn't call her on it. Didn't even acknowledge that she could be slightly mistaken.

Just smiled and nodded his approval. "That's my girl."

By the time they pulled up to the apartments near Channel Park, there were already two men standing near the front door. They'd been Maroni's before he paid them off, couple of drug runners with connections to the higher ups. Made better muscle than dealers anyway.

"They've got the uniforms?" He knew the answer, they wouldn't be here otherwise.

Zak offered a stiff nod, eyes scanning the road for witnesses. "Upstairs in White's place. Seven uniforms, all stripped and ready. Three of the boys are already up there watching them."

"Good."

That left Tom, the two men outside, and himself to fill in the rest of the ranks. The muscles in his shoulders tensed and he shook his head to release it. That adrenaline was already coursing through him, the anticipation of battle whetting his appetite for blood.

Drawing in a breath through his nose, he focused that energy. These things took control, precision. A seasoned soldier knew how to prepare for battle, how to take that adrenaline and burn it like gasoline. How to hold the match, when to strike it, and the exact time to drop it for the flames to be most destructive.

Today was an exercise in patience. He had hardly removed the match from the book.

Turning to the back seat, Joker motioned his head at Tom. "Get out, take the bags from the back, and go upstairs."

No further instruction was needed, Schiff knew where to go and wasted no time in heading there. Good man, that one. Eager to please and a damn good shot. Sick fuck had done away with his mother and sister, according to the talk amongst the boys. Would have gotten his father too, but the police arrived before he could get the fucker between the eyes.

The Joker respected that kind of blood lust, understood it deep in his bones.

Once Tom was out of the car and heading toward the building with two dufflebags in hand, Joker turned his attention to Harley. She was still pouting after the stunt he'd pulled earlier, head pressed against the window and arms crossed tightly against her chest.

With a gentle hand he reached out and touched her knee, but she withdrew from his touch almost immediately. Tongue swiping over his lips, he sighed and tried to sound as patient as possible. "Now, you're gonna be good for Zak while I'm gone, right?"

Pointedly refusing to look at him, she stared out the window as though distracted by something outside. Clenching a fist against his thigh, he swallowed the anger burning in his throat. There was no point in pushing her too hard today, not when he had already cornered her this morning.

He still couldn't quite believe she had been so quick to claim she loved him. It was fucked up, so fucked up. How was he supposed to react to that? It wasn't like she could possibly mean it, and he certainly wasn't going to condone that sort of talk. The idea that she could possibly love him after all he had done, considering who he was, it just didn't make sense.

Yes, she liked when he fucked her and found great fun in giving him hell every chance she was given. Yes, they talked about everything from sweet nothings to philosophy. Yes, she had told him last night that she could never have anyone the way she had him, and he had been quick to say it right back. And, of course, she had driven a goddamn sledgehammer into Brian Douglas's oversized head at the very idea that the man could actually hurt him. Certainly that didn't mean…

She loved him.

Licking his lips, he tried again to get her attention.

"Harley, look at me, honey." His hand rested against her thigh and she shifted, but didn't shake him off. "You and Zak are going to park in the garage over there, and you have to promise me that you'll be good. And if anything happens, you do exactly as he says, alright?"

That made her look up, face still stern as those impossibly blue eyes caught his. "What do you mean?"

"We're about to kill the mayor, sugar. Things are going to get messy." A smirk twisted his scars. "If for some reason I don't make it back, you need to do exactly what Zak says."

For a moment she seemed to consider this, brows knitting together as she tried to digest the words. It was only then that she looked at him, really looked at him, and tried to return his grin. He watched the way her stitches fought against the dimples in her face, savored the way genuine concern glittered in her eyes.

"Will you kiss me?" Cheeks turning pink, she dropped her gaze to the hands folded in her lap. "You know, for good luck."

The question surprised him and he glanced toward Zak, who seemed to be pointedly ignoring the conversation. Rolling his eyes, he nodded and leaned over the seat.

She came forward in a rush and he caught her face in his hands before complying with her request. All of that pent up energy rushing through him transferred straight to her as he devoured her. Every little quirk of her lips, the fishing line of her stitches poking against his scars, and the curling of her fingers on the collar of his shirt. It was his, all of it, and he burned with the need to possess her.

From the seat beside him, Zak cleared his throat. "I don't think it matters, seeing as we're already doing a bunch of illegal shit today, but I am parked in front of a fire hydrant. So if you guys would hurry…"

That got Harley laughing, a delighted little sound masked his disappointed groan when she pulled away. He shot Zak a scowl and received an almost-apologetic shrug in return. It shouldn't have been an acceptable response, he should have taken the silenced pistol out of the waistband of his pants and shot the asshole point blank.

But he didn't.

There were far more important things to do. No sense in getting rid of his best man.

Turning his lazy gaze in Zak's direction, he smirked. "You watch your mouth or I will cut out your tongue."

He wasn't certain if he had meant it seriously, but Zak didn't smile. Joker did, though. Gave him a big toothy grin before slipping out the passenger door.

"Be careful," Harley called after him.

"Never gonna happen, sugar."

She stuck her tongue out at him and he laughed, one of those odd chuckles from deep in his belly, before shutting the door and turning to the two men at the door.

The moment his attention turned to the task at hand his mind shifted completely. A match was struck and burned deep within him. A breath and it consumed him, his veins filling with fire and chaos.

He used to miss that rush, back in the time between war and crime. Funny how those two things were so similar, how there was no distinction between them when he tore down the socially constructed moral implications. In war, killing someone was a noble act, something that a man should be praised for his skill in doing. When he did it now it was considered murder and the news was buzzing with what a madman he was for the "careless" way he took lives.

Careless was a funny word, wasn't it?

Because nothing he was doing was careless. Quite the opposite, in fact. This entire operation had taken years of meticulous planning. Working his way up through Gotham's underbelly until he found himself with enough power to strike a deal with the mob. After spending the better half of two years actively studying how strings were pulled from the underground to the highest peaks of Gotham's elite, he was ready for war. Ready to put on the mask of the enemy long enough to send Gotham spiraling into its own demise.

He was a catalyst, poised to drop into a dangerous chemical mixture and revel in the destruction that followed.

And the media had the audacity to call him careless because he had overseen the death of that judge and commissioner without saying sorry.

They were right about one thing, though, he wasn't sorry.

He was just getting started.

"You need us to come up too, boss?"

Those thick Brooklyn accents never failed to make him smile. Fucking mobsters and their deep voices and stereotypical broad shoulders. It was probably some sort of prerequisite for joining. Burly build, bad accent, tiny penis. Overcompensation was what made them all so violent.

No wonder they had been so upset about him crashing their meeting. He didn't fit the bill at all.

Giving the man who had spoken a once-over, he nodded. "No time like the present to get the party started, right boys?"

The men exchanged a look that spoke volumes about their apprehension. It almost made him laugh. These two had been so quick to join his team, so excited to move up from running drugs to executing public officials. And yet, when the opportunity finally presented itself to hop in on the action, they both seemed to be having second thoughts.

"Come on," he said, voice just a little too high to sound truly amiable. "It'll be fun."

With a hand on each of their thick arms, he turned them toward the door and motioned for the largest of the two to lead the way. The old wooden stairs creaked and popped as they made their way up to the vacant apartment where the uniforms were being kept. It belonged to one of his hired hands. Melvin, if he remembered right. A useful man with more anger issues than fingers, though his fingerprints had come in handy.

If Batman was half the detective he was supposed to be, he'd find a match on those prints and probably arrive right in time to see the parade. The key to any good scavenger hunt was leaving just the right amount of clues. No sense in making things too easy. Where was the fun in a scavenger hunt with easy clues?

The Joker was better than that, and if Batman was going to pose any sort of threat he was going to have to be as well.

At the top of the stairs they took a left and found Melvin's apartment waiting for them. Early morning light poured through the large windows overlooking the street, casting the center of the room in bright orange and yellow. It cast odd shadows across the off-white carpet, acting as a spotlight on the seven men stripped, bound, and blindfolded around a pillar in the center of the room.

His eyes scanned the bare room, took in the three men already wearing the stolen uniforms, the guns lined neatly against the wall, and the duffle bags on the floor. Schiff was standing near them, a uniform in hand and wide eyes taking in the scene.

One more visual sweep, this time making certain to study the faces of each of his clowns. It was strange to be standing among them barefaced, and he was certain they were all taking in his pale features with a certain amount of curiosity. Without his warpaint he nearly looked human. Like he could be one of them, blend amongst their ranks even with the garish scars. And ultimately that was the point today. To be one of them, part of the crowd right up until it mattered.

Clearing his throat, the Joker looked between his men and grinned.

"Are our guests, uh, comfortable?" he asked, feeling the entire room stand at attention as his voice filled the air.

One of the prisoners yelled against the duct tape that covered his mouth, but the man next to him bumped him with a shoulder to encourage his silence. It took just a moment for the room to fall into a silence so thick he could have sliced it open with a knife.

"I'm going to take that as a yes."

In a few paces he was across the room, picking up one of the duffle bags and retrieving nametags from it. Each shiny gold plate bore the name of potential targets, all public officials that Gotham would not be happy to sacrifice for the sake of their masked hero. Soon enough something would give, he would take a life worth Batman's time.

Soon enough the vigilante would turn himself in, and then the real fun would start. This was all child's play in the grand scheme of things. Any criminal with a brain between his ears could find a way to do away with a few public officials. All of these stunts were simply meant to back the people of Gotham into a corner.

The walls of their perceived institution would fall soon enough. With their hero gone and their spirit broken, he could properly up the ante and get everyone in on the game. It was just a matter of time.

Wordlessly he handed a nametag to each of his men, exchanging a tag with the name Rachel Dawes to Tom for a uniform.

"Hand the rest of those out, Tommy-gun, we don't have much time."

Nodding enthusiastically, Tom handed the remaining uniforms as the Joker disappeared into the bathroom to change. It wasn't that he was particularly modest, simply that he preferred to hold an air of mystery. To keep himself somewhat distanced from the men he hired.

With the door shut and locked behind him, he undressed and put on the black uniform. It had been years since he had been in uniform, though his other one had never been quite this decorated. He donned this with the same amount of care regardless, even tucked his stringy green hair into the hat to make him appear more polished. Each epaulet was adjusted with care, each pin straightened and polished until he was certain that the outfit was pristine.

It was only then that he allowed himself to look into the mirror. To take in his stoic reflection and scarred maw. Something stirred within him at the sight, just as he knew it would. Memories long since buried clawed to the forefront of his mind, flashes of gunfire and blood and screaming. His screaming.

Taking in a deep breath through his nose, he pushed those images away. Drowned them out with the chaos that had since become his reality. Replaced them with thoughts of the corrupt city that had welcomed him home, of nights cold and abandoned by the country he'd nearly died for, of how sweet revenge would taste, of how satisfying it would be to act as the catalyst for all of it. He thought of Harley seeing the hell he would unleash on the mob for what they did to her.

Fists clenching at his side, he snapped his gaze away from the mirror and went back to join his crew. His mind ran through the list of things yet to do, the trap to set, the timer on the windowsill to distract the snipers, the telescope to ensure any curious eyes would have a good few of the parade…

The time for action had come and adrenaline was hot in his veins, burning up under his skin. The time had come to set it free, to give in to his instinctual needs. Burning was inevitable, a natural part of life's progression.

He dropped the match that had been burning at his core and felt fire swallow him whole.


	11. Cherry Cola

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harley gets new clothes.

"I can be your daddy  
Be your rock n roller  
And you can be my sugar  
Be my cherry cola."

~ Eagles of Death Metal "Cherry Cola"

///

"Think we bought enough shit today?" The sound of Zak's voice surprised Harley and she looked up from the fresh sketchpad she was drawing in.

She glanced behind her, appreciating the back of the SUV piled high with bags and boxes. They had spent a few hours at the mall, Harley talking to Zak over a burner phone to give him her list as she smoked his cigarettes in the car. It wasn't her ideal way to go shopping, but it had sufficed. By the time they left the suburbs to head back downtown she had convinced him to spend a little over a thousand dollars on various small appliances, make-up, books, art supplies, and other essentials.

It felt good, truth be told. Harley had never thought herself the kind to spend extravagantly, and by most standards she had not. Only her own standards had her feeling a twinge of guilt for the amount of arguably frivolous spending she had done. They had spent carefully, only picking up things that could easily be moved when they eventually abandoned the warehouse. Zak had right out refused to buy anything too heavy or easily tracked back to her, insisting that there would be time for her to buy new clothes and proper appliances when they found her a new apartment. She was beginning to suspect that her conscience was not upset about buying new things so much as she was unaccustomed to allowing herself to have nice things.

Even so, there was a certain amount of satisfaction in knowing that she wouldn't be left bored and hungry during whatever the Joker had up his sleeve. He could go about his business however he wished and she could blissfully put it out of her mind while working on the art she finally had time to create.

There should have been some guilt there, and she was certain it existed somewhere deep within her. A shame that would someday wrack her bones and make her sick under the weight of what she was allowing to happen. The chaos that the Joker was unleashing on the city while she turned a blind eye to the death left in his wake would catch up with her one day. The other shoe would fall and she would find herself paying for her nights spent with him.

Today, however, was not that day. Today they had a brand new coffee maker and she had a fresh sketchbook whose blank pages begged to be filled.

And that was exactly what she was doing, lounging with her feet on the dashboard as she concentrated only on filling the page in front of her. In the time she and Zak had been parked in a side street near the funeral, she had nearly finished sketching her scuffed tennis shoes and the dash below them. The view outside would come next, all the tall buildings and chipped concrete that had never been repaired after winter. If she could just get that shading between her crossed ankles…

"Jesus, the boss wasn't kidding when he said you don't listen."

The moment her eyes snapped to Zak he started laughing, her glassy gaze giving an unfocused sweep of his face before her attention returned to the sketch in her lap.

"I'm not the best at conversation when I'm drawing, alright?" She shrugged, teeth digging into her lip as she filled in the shadow her jeans left on her shoes.

"Well, excuse me for bothering you." Even without looking at him she could tell he was smiling.

Rolling her eyes, she set down her pencil and sighed.

"Excuse me for being anti-social." Cringing at the shortness of her tone, she shook her head. "Sorry, fuck. I sound like an angry teenager, don't I?" She laughed and waved away her lack of patience, trying to find a way to excuse it. "When I work and get focused...I…I sort of lose myself, you know?"

Zak snorted, nodding his head with eyes fixed on the road ahead of them. "Like your brain is racing too fast and you can hardly keep up with it, right? Like if you stop focusing you'll lose it all entirely."

There was an unmistakable familiarity in his words, but not the kind that stemmed from experience. This sort of familiarity came from receiving the same lecture too often, like a professor quoting the same lesson he'd been giving for decades.

"Sort of," Harley replied carefully. "It's less that I have a train of thought to keep up with so much as it seems to use a different part of my brain. I sort of immerse myself in the world of observing and it's hard to pull away. Different kind of concentration, I guess."

Nodding as though he understood, Zak pushed his mess of dark hair away from his face. "You ever seen J work?"

Her thumb ran along the cool metal rings of her notebook binding. Had she ever seen J work? Immediately her mind went back to the slaughterhouse, to Brian's shattered skull, and J's dark eyes and his lips pressed against her ear.

"My girl's a killer."

Almost at a distance she realized her heart was pounding, tears blurring the edges of her vision. Trying to breathe through the sudden tightness in her chest, she shook her head. "Only...uh…only at the slaughterhouse."

Frowning, Zak leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. "No, no, not like that. The Joker in battle is a different beast entirely. I'm talking like…paperwork. You ever seen him trying to strategize?"

Picking up her pencil and tapping it against her thigh, she tried to recall such an interaction. They had once gone over his plans for the bank robbery, but she wasn't certain that counted seeing as he had insisted she work it out herself.

"Can't say that I have," she admitted.

"Bound to happen eventually." Zak gave a dismissive gesture before going on. "What I was trying to get at is that he does the same thing. He'll seem a hundred miles away for hours at a time. I've seen him go nearly four days without sleeping while putting something together. He goes like a fucking machine until he's got it all figured out. It takes a miracle to distract him if he's got something in his head."

For a moment Harley considered that, thought about the days when he would come into the coffee shop before a heist, or when he snuck in her apartment window to spend time with her. Just last night he had come home from Harvey Dent's fundraiser and ignored all other pressing matters to fuck her instead. Distracting him from work seemed to be part of their relationship agreement and she wondered if that would hold true when he had actual work to get done.

She voiced none of that, of course. Opting instead to pull a face and act as though she took his words as a warning rather than a challenge.

"Are you preparing me for something?" A frown tugged at her stitches. "Because you're making it sound like I'm about to have a boring couple of days."

Shaking his head, Zak glanced at the bags in the back of the car. "With all the shit you bought today? I doubt you'll be bored for quite a while."

The very thought of the mountain of books and art supplies she now possessed made her grin. "I don't think I've ever had that much money to spend at once. Thank you for doing that shopping for me. It will definitely make the nights locked up in the warehouse a little less mind-numbing."

"Well, between you and me, you're probably going to be moving into a nice cozy place of your own again soon."

Harley's heart leapt at the very idea and she had to bite her tongue to contain the excited squeal that built in her throat. "Really? Did J tell you?"

Rolling his eyes, Zak rolled down his window and lit a cigarette. "Well, he never really intended for you to stay with us in the first place. But desperate times, you know? He's had me poking around for places we can put you up and I think we finally found one that meets his standards."

And just as quickly as the excitement had come, she felt it subside. Once again something monumental in her life was about to happen and she had absolutely no control over it. She had not even been informed they were looking for apartments, let alone that one had been picked out for her.

"Do…do I get a say in it?" she asked, trying not to let her agitation show.

Shrugging, Zak took a long drag off his cigarette. "I would think so. I mean, don't take this the wrong way, but it's a damn nice place and you'd be stupid not to like it. But I'll show you the pictures and floor plan when we get back to base, if it will make you feel better."

Biting back further irritation, Harley nodded. "I would appreciate that."

Silence spread between them then and she took the opportunity to steal another cigarette from him. The radio filled the space their conversation had occupied with rap songs that Harley vaguely recognized from her youth.

Eventually Zak broke the silence, giving her a sideways glance before flicking the small remainder of his cigarette out the window. "You really aren't used to having things done for you, huh?"

Her weak attempt at a smile felt painful as it tugged at her stitches. "Nah."

Blowing out a breath, she made a bitter sound and tried to bite back the sudden surge of emotion that built within her. There were tears blurring her vision, which she tried to wipe away without Zak noticing.

"I've fought tooth and nail for everything." She sniffed, the tightness in her chest keeping her voice low. "No one has ever handed me anything. I managed to maintain a near-perfect GPA and my goddamn scholarship for all four years of my undergrad degree in visual art, won multiple national gymnastics medals, went on to get my Master's in psychology, and had it all fucking taken from me by some asshole that decided his degree was more important than mine. I went from a year away from finishing my PhD to working in a coffee shop to make ends meet. So, no, I'm not used to having anything just given to me. I was willing to get evicted before I took help, but then J got involved. Fucking asshole."

This time she managed a genuine smile, even while wiping tears off her cheeks. Moments like this made her feel incredibly lucky to have met J when she did. All of his financial help and insistence on keeping her close and safe truly made her feel cared for and appreciated. It annoyed her to no end that he was so secretive about many things and didn't ask for her input when making decisions regarding her future, but she knew that he was trying to make her life better. That he wanted her by his side and happy, which was ultimately what she wanted as well.

"I'm sorry." Huffing out a breath, she pushed her hair away from her face. "I know that J means well and I'm sure I must sound incredibly ungrateful. It's just…I'm not used to not being in control of my life. I'm not ready to give it up just yet."

That stoic expression Zak always seemed to take on faltered for just a moment. He frowned, crossing his arms over his chest.

"It's not always going to be like this, you know." Offering her an attempt at a smile, he shrugged. "The mob picked one hell of a time to fuck you up. You just got swept up in all of this chaos and I'm sorry things happened this way. But he knows you're capable of making your own decisions and soon things…well, we'll see how things play out."

"I just wish he trusted me enough to let me make my own decisions, or just fucking…talk to me about them, you know?" She inhaled a long drag and let smoke burn her lungs before flicking the filter of her cigarette out the window. "All I want is to feel like he respects me and cares about my fucking opinion. I don't even think he realizes I'm capable…"

Zak laughed at that, actually threw back his head and cackled like she had just told the best joke he'd ever heard. It confused her, which must have shown on her face by the speed at which he tried to recover.

"I'm sorry." Struggling to regain composure, he took a deep breath and shook his head. "It's just…I can't believe you think… You want him to respect you? Harley, you have him wrapped around your goddamn finger."

Harley blinked. Twice. It was strange to hear that sort of comment made about J, especially by someone who knew him as well as Zak. After spending months trying to convince herself that his intentions for her were good, that he had her best interests at heart, that maybe he had a sliver of feelings for her, it was strange to be told as much. Though she would have preferred to hear it from J himself, it felt genuine enough coming from his right hand man.

Attempting to brush it off felt natural, and that was exactly what she did. Rolled her eyes and batted away the comment with a wave of her hand. Just this morning the man that was supposedly wrapped around her finger had nearly laughed at her confession of love.

"Nah, I don't think so." Pulling a face, she stretched her stiff legs. "He's just happy to get laid."

Chuckling, Zak shrugged. "Well, I'm sure that helps. But I haven't seen him like that since…shit…ever. Not even before…"

He trailed off but Harley knew exactly what he was implying. Before the scars. Before the Joker. She was near certain he was saying it just to make her feel special, and she smiled out of necessity.

"I don't know, man." The right words took a moment for her to find, but once she had they were out in a ferocious rush. "It's…it's complicated. And I fucking hate using that term because it is the most cliché bullshit, but it's the best I've got. I like J, I really do, but he is so unpredictable. It's hard to get a real grip on a relationship with him because the minute I start to figure him out, he throws something new at me. I'm not even certain he likes me, I think he's just decided I'm fun to have around. I can't tell if I'm special or convenient."

She trailed off in a laugh that she expected Zak to mimic, though he never did. Instead she found his face to be that stoic mask. His arms were crossed and lips pressed in a tight line as he debated how to respond to her.

Eventually he pressed his palms firmly against the steering wheel and curled his fingers in frustration. "You are special Harley, I can tell you that right now."

Her attempts to protest were cut off with a severe look before he went on. "When we were in special ops, Jack was notorious for getting girls at bars. He was a charming fucker, all smiles and pretty words, and the girls would flock to him. Fucker practically made a game of it, though I'm sure you don't want to hear that. It's important, though, because he never treated a goddamn one of them with the care he gives you."

Harley snorted. "He never uprooted their lives entirely and then called all the shots for them? What a shame, they're really missing out."

Something close to anger darkened Zak's face and Harley swore he snarled. "Don't fucking be like that, Harley. Fuck. I see why he gets so frustrated with you."

White hot rage shot straight through her and she balled her fists in her lap in an attempt to keep from screaming back.

"What?" The word slid through her teeth like oil. "Because I actually have a fucking backbone? Because I don't put up with bullshit? A man cut my goddamn face open and now my entire life has been taken away. I'm sorry if that leaves me a little rough around the edges."

Gritting his teeth, Zak took a measured breath. And then another.

And then he laughed. A quiet, bitter chuckle that made his shoulders shake as he tried to bite it back.

"Jesus, you really are perfect for him." Sucking in a breath, he turned his attention to her fully and looked her straight in the eyes. "You met J somewhere around the end of June, right? It had to have been about then because that's when he started getting distracted. See, before he had one objective, which was to undermine the mob and expose the moral corruption of Gotham using Batman as an example. Still is, but that's away from the point.

"The point is, a few days before that mob fucker cut your face, there was a day when J came home singing Bowie. I didn't think a goddamn thing of it until that night when I was playing poker with some of the guys. Jack used to be the fucking master at poker, but I hadn't seen him play in years. But we were all sitting around playing and shooting the shit and he was off doing that thing he does where he paces and kinda talks to himself to process whatever he's planning. It's weird, but that doesn't fucking matter because I'm getting off track again. We were about to start a new hand and I shouted the usual offer to deal him in, which he usually ignores. But that night he fucking came over to the table and sat down and played a hand with us. Some of the boys were so fucking nervous because of it. I don't think they had ever seen that side of him. He didn't say much, but he laughed at their jokes and bet too much and drank whiskey and won like ten grand off of us. It was the most like his old self that I'd seen him in years."

It took a while for those words to really sink in, for Harley to process what Zak was telling her. That while she had spent countless hours trying to sort out what J thought of her, she had already managed to get into his head. J had taken an interest in her long before she realized it, had come into the shop specifically to see her. That much had been obvious by the time he gave her the money – likely the money he had won off of his hired hands, come to think of it – and she hadn't even realized it until Zak pointed it out.

Yes, she had hoped her little crush would be reciprocated, but she had no idea how deeply that connection between them had run right from the start.

"That's a good thing, right?" she asked eventually. "Him being like his old self, I mean. I…I don't know what he's like outside of the time I spend with him, but that's the side of him you're referring to isn't it?"

For a moment Zak hesitated, a smile tugging at his mouth even as his eyes seemed to grow sad. "You know how he was at the slaughterhouse? That's…that's the only version of him that I've seen for some time now. He's better with you. You're good for him."

Torn somewhere between flattered and suspicious, Harley couldn't help hoping Zak was right. That she really was good for J, that he needed her whether he accepted that or not. He certainly recognized their matching scars, the way they seemed to be bound together now, and even if he never returned her confession of love there were bound to be similar feelings deep within him.

"I don't think I've ever met anyone like him before." What she was about to admit made her nervous and her voice shook under the weight of it. "I know there aren't many people like him, but I was drawn to him right from the start. And it scares the shit out of me because I can feel myself falling for him every moment I'm with him. Sometimes he makes me so fucking angry that I want to punch him in his smug fucking face, but goddamn I enjoy every second of it. And I know it's stupid, but I think he's the best guy I've ever been with. I think I love him and I have no idea how to handle that."

Gunshots came from the direction of the park and Harley knew that must have been J's plan in action. There were screams of terror and people running in the opposite direction of the funeral. For a moment her breath caught in her chest and she waited to see J in those ratty street clothes he'd had on. Her heart was pounding, though she had no idea why. Fear? Worry?

"Did you just say you think you're in love with him?" She was too distracted to know for certain, but it sounded like Zak was trying not to laugh.

"Yes," she replied through clenched jaw and teeth.

When she looked at Zak his face seemed almost sympathetic. "Does he know?"

"Yeah."

More gunshots, more screams. Still no sign of J. Closing her eyes, she began counting the seconds. He'd said it should take three minutes to go from the funeral to the car. A minute was bound to have already slipped by.

When Zak spoke again she felt her shoulder muscles tighten in irritation.

"Wait, you told him you loved him?" There was disbelief there and she could have sworn he was about to start laughing again. "What did he even say?"

She tried to remember, tried to think of anything other than the slowly passing seconds and the commotion outside of the car. It made her wish she could be like Zak, so completely desensitized to the chaos that she could carry on a lighthearted conversation.

A long breath in and out almost cleared her head. "He said that I better hope I never get interrogated because I'd spill my guts in a second."

This time Zak really did laugh. "Sounds like him."

Harley laughed too, though she didn't find it funny. The sound simply eased the tightness in her chest.

"Do you think he loves me back?" The question fell from her lips before she could stop it.

Her heart was beating in her temples, her entire body aching from the speed at which blood coursed through her. Everything was too heavy suddenly, even the air hung laced with the pregnant silence that stretched between them. For a small eternity they sat staring at each other, Zak's face suddenly blank as he thought her question through thoroughly. Watching his hesitation made her heart sink slowly into her toes where she could step on it later.

"I think if you keep talking like that you're going to get him killed." Hearing that cut like steel and she fought against the way it ripped into her heart.

Though she shook her head in denial, Zak refused to let the subject drop. He caught her eyes and held them as he spoke. "Do not forget who he is and what he does. You think he can afford to get feelings mixed up in this? It's a goddamn miracle that you get out of him what you do. And you may not like it, but that distance he's trying to maintain is absolutely essential."

She wanted to object, to insist that she had no intention of hurting him. But this wasn't about her and she knew that. This was about the great overarching objective, the chaos and revenge against the mob. Harley would never hurt him, but once again she was reminded that she could easily be used against him.

In the span of a breath the back passenger side door opened and J came tumbling inside, breathing hard and gnashing his teeth. "Drive!"

"Where's Tom?" Harley asked, waiting for their passenger from earlier to join them.

"It doesn't fucking matter," J hissed. "Drive."

Zak didn't waste a second before complying. The car pulled carefully from its parking spot and moved down the road without catching anyone's attention. Harley wanted to object purely out of a misplaced sense of responsibility. It wasn't her business, it wasn't her problem, but she wanted to take it on all the same.

"What happened to him?" The unwelcome inquiry seemed to put the entire car on edge.

"He was expendable." J's voice was dangerous, his lips pulling back in a snarl as he spoke. "We had to…expend him."

Clearly something had gone awry and whatever it was had him incredibly on edge. Whatever J had done, he'd managed to get away with it, but it certainly hadn't gone the way he had envisioned.

But he was safe, which was what really mattered, wasn't it? He was back in the car and they were going home. Together. J had been adamant in his insistence that he was flexible when it came to plans and she was certain he would have a new and creative way to accomplish what he had set out to do soon enough.

Just as suddenly as Harley's anxiety had washed over her, it receded like the tide. Relief warmed her frozen bones and she couldn't help smiling when she looked back at him.

He was wearing a police uniform, his hair all tucked up in the navy cap. It suited him, in a way, made her see him as he may have been as a soldier. She wanted to make some joke about how she loved a man in uniform, ask him if he had any handcuffs hidden on him, but never quite managed to get there.

It was his eyes that made her hold her tongue. Those black holes held such gravity she could feel her breath being taken by them. Something had gone terribly wrong, though she wasn't certain she should inquire about it. If he wanted to talk, which he inevitably would, he would bring it up first.

Silence began to fill the cabin of the SUV, broken only by the faint sound of DMX on the radio and J's incessant muttering. Harley clung to it, closed her eyes and let the dull cadence wash over her.

They were nearly out of Gotham by the time one of them finally spoke. The skyscrapers had given way to the dilapidated housing in the Narrows, which slowly dissolved into the warehouse district they inhabited near the docks. Harley was hard at work finishing her sketch from earlier, fleshing out small details and line work.

"He's not dead," J announced, frowning in a way that tugged unnaturally at his scars.

Looking up from her sketchpad, Harley caught his eyes in the mirror. "Huh?"

His head turned violently as he cracked his neck. "The mayor. Is. Not. Dead."

"What?" It was impossible for Zak to hide his surprise, his foot slamming down a little too hard on the brake as they came to a stop at a red light.

"Did…did you miss?" Harley asked, immediately regretting it.

Those black eyes snapped to her so fast she could nearly feel the burn of his irritation. "Not exactlyyyy."

Her brow furrowed. "So, you hit him?"

J growled low in his throat.

"Jesus, Harley, would you stop prying?" Pulling a face, he snorted and muttered something that sounded profane, though Harley didn't catch it. "The mayor is jussst fiiine, but I can't say the same for Lieutenant Gordon from the MCU."

Biting her lip, Harley felt her insides twist at the name. "Jim Gordon? Why? What happened?"

Mouth twitching in irritation, he slithered forward to rest his chin on the seat beside her. Hot breath against her ear sent a shiver through her.

"I didn't miss him." The giggle that followed made her shoulders burn with tension.

Bile rose in her throat as Harley tried to move away from him. Jim Gordon had been a huge advocate for the youth program she had worked on while getting her PhD. On multiple occasions he had told her how much he approved of her work and encouraged her to continue working with at-risk kids. According to the lieutenant, the key to stopping crime was to help kids get interested and involved in other activities from a young age. Giving them a safe space to go where she could instruct them in alternate ways to deal with their issues was nearly as important to him as it was to her. They had only formally talked a few times, but a letter of recommendation from Gordon had earned the shelter a grant from the government that would have allowed her to continue the program for another year, had she not dropped out of school.

Losing Jim Gordon felt like another layer of her past being ripped away like an old band-aid. All of the things she had promised herself she would one day accomplish seemed to be crumbling under her feet at an alarming rate.

Tears stung her eyes and she bit down hard on her tongue to distract from them. It was almost guaranteed J noticed, the quick little click of his tongue making her squirm. For once he didn't pry, didn't even try to agitate her.

He sank into the back seat and stretched his legs out along the bench. The collection of bags finally seemed to catch his attention and he let out a hum of approval.

"Did they have anything left when you were finished?" he teased, casually poking through the contents of a few bags.

It seemed infinitely clear that he was trying to distract her, attempting to excuse his perceived wrongdoing by bringing up something good that he had done for her.

"You'll have to ask Zak." Her smile was weak, but convincing enough. "I wasn't allowed to go inside."

J cackled. "Obviously."

That smile - the genuine one that she swore fueled the beating of her heart – took his face and he leaned back against the door with his hands behind his head. It was incredibly difficult to remain cross with him when he looked at her like that.

"Did she buy out the whole place, Zak?" Glancing sideways at her, he winked and smirked. There was not a doubt in her mind that he was trying to warm her up, to bury her ire beneath the sound of his laughter.

"Not a thing left," Zak sighed, giving a dramatic shrug and shake of his shaggy hair. "Spent your whole damn fortune on makeup and coffee."

"And art supplies," Harley added, finding her bitterness impossible to hold onto.

Lifting his eyebrows in mock surprise, J put a white-gloved hand on Harley's shoulder. "You mean you're not going to try to raid my desk for scrap paper again?"

"Nah, you'll have to find some other stupid reason to get angry with me."

Rolling those dangerous black eyes, J licked his lips and sighed. "I'm sure I'll think of something."

The hand on her shoulder tightened and she recognized it as a warning despite the thrill it sent through her.

"Is that a promise?" Her breathing hitched and heat bloomed in her stomach.

Pressing his thumb just a bit harder into her shoulder, J shook his head. "None of that right now, sugar."

Clearly she was getting too mouthy for his liking while in the presence of one of his hired hands. With her lower lip between her teeth, she nodded her understanding and surrender.

"Is anyone else hungry?" Zak suggested suddenly, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "I am fucking starving. There's a great Vietnamese place on the way home with the best pho on the planet. Or there's an Italian joint a little off the beaten path that has some killer shrimp alfredo. Boss, I know you never turn down good shrimp."

"Not sure I can afford shrimp if Harley had you spend my whole fucking fortune," J teased, retracting his hand from her shoulder. "But shrimp sounds just fine."

Zak snorted. "Shrimp it is."

It had taken Harley three trips to haul all of her bags upstairs. J had stubbornly refused to assist in the second or third trip, insisting that he had business to attend to and dragging Zak along with him. They disappeared somewhere into the depths of the warehouse, leaving Harley to grumble as she made the next two trips alone.

She took her time unpacking once she had everything upstairs. The coffee maker came first and Harley wasted no time in starting a pot. As it was brewing, she took her bag of cosmetics and the few items of clothing she had managed to convince Zak to pick up to the bathroom in an attempt to shower.

The pathetic excuse for a water heater gave her nearly eleven minutes of hot water, which happened to be a new record and actually enough time for her to properly wash her hair and rinse most of the soap off her skin before she was forced to suffer through two minutes of frigid spray. She put on a bit of makeup once she'd dried off and swept her hair up into a ponytail, delighted to properly feel properly refreshed.

When she finally emerged, feeling clean head to toe and wearing the most comfortable sweatpants she had ever had the pleasure of owning, J was waiting for her. He was leaning against the counter with a cup of coffee in hand, still dressed in that police uniform. The contents of her bags were laying haphazardly in a pile, making it obvious that he had pawed through them in her absence.

His carelessness had anger surging through her for just a moment before she rolled her eyes and made her way to the coffee maker beside him.

"What was that look for, hmm?" Grinning like a shark, he looked her over and leaned close as she brushed past him.

Harley poured a cup of coffee and made her way over to the couch. "You're like a hurricane, you know that? I leave you alone for a half hour and you tear through all of my things."

Settling into the worn cushions, she watched him follow after her.

"Well, I am a force of nature, sugar." He smirked, sitting on the arm of the couch next to her.

Laughing around the rim of her cup, she rested her head against his side. "I was going to say incessant pain in my ass."

For just a moment he tensed, his hand curling oddly as it hovered beside her head. She prepared for him to demand she move, to tell her that the contact was unwelcome. His discomfort with physical contact had her near certain he would be against this sort of cuddling.

But then there was warmth on her shoulder, his hand resting heavy there and pulling her closer. Immediately it set her at ease and she huffed out a contented sigh.

"You haven't given me the chance to be a pain in your ass, sugar. But if you're offering…" He winked and she snorted in response, shaking her head to dismiss any ideas he may have been forming.

Pulling ever so slightly away from him, she stuck her tongue out. "You're a dirty old man, you know that?"

He growled low in his throat, moving a hand to the back of her neck and tugging slightly on her hair. Her heart rate picked up in response, insides fluttering with anticipation that she tried to keep at bay.

"Mmmm, you think so?" Licking his lips, he caught her eyes and grinned. "Wanna see how dirty I can be?"

Heat surged through her, coloring her face with a blush as she took a sip from her mug. "Maybe when I'm done with my coffee, puddin'."

He cackled in delight, patting her head approvingly before sliding off the couch. "Got your priorities straight, as always."

Watching him swagger back to the kitchen, she curled up sideways on the couch and picked up her sketchbook and pencil from the floor. In one long swig she finished her coffee and set the chipped cup on the floor where her sketchbook had been, before flipping to a fresh page beginning to trace a few mindless lines.

The sound of liquid lapping against ceramic filled the silence, interrupted only by the scratching of her pencil. Harley's mind slipped into autopilot, taking in details of J's face as she made quick strokes along the page to get the proper lines in place. A rough outline of his head and torso began to appear, complete with a cup of coffee in his hands.

Couch springs wheezed in protest as J settled onto the cushion next to her, his knees spread wide and his thigh brushing against her toes. He cleared his throat loudly and she assumed he was trying to get her attention, which made ignoring him incredibly satisfying. It was a race now to find out how much sketching she could get done before he insisted on distracting her.

She'd hardly managed to fill in the lines of his face when he leaned close to see what she was doing. For a long moment he stared, his face completely blank. And then he frowned, tilting his head to get a better look at her work.

"I think my hair is a bit longer, sugar." He leaned further over her knees, blocking her line of sight. "Falls down around my chin there."

Rolling her eyes, Harley sat back and sighed. "Not in that hat, it doesn't."

With a disapproving hum, he pulled off the police hat he'd been wearing. His head shook violently as he let down his hair before resting his chin on her knees.

"How about now?" Raising a sardonic eyebrow, he gripped her thighs with twitchy fingers.

A few quick swipes of the pencil and she had the general shape and length of his hair.

"Better?" she asked, turning the page for him to examine as he sat up.

Nodding his approval, he kicked off his shoes and turned to mirror her pose. His stocking clad feet covered hers and he watched her intently as she began working on some of the details of his face. Those dark eyes, the ridges of his scars, the smirk tugging at his lips. Even without his warpaint she knew he aimed to look menacing, so she gave his eyebrows that arch that she often recognized as a dare.

"Will you turn your head a little bit to the right?" she asked, glancing over her knees at him.

Seeming amused, he complied. "You trying to get on my good side?"

Harley snorted, filling in the shadows around his scars. "I don't think you have a bad side."

His tongue snaked across his lips as he stared hard at her, eyes growing dark. "Everybody's got a bad side, sugar. You just haven't managed to get on mine yet."

Sparks flared in his dark eyes and she could feel the storm brewing within him.

Setting her sketchbook aside, she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around her knees, giving him her full attention.

"How much of a pest would I have to be to get on your bad side?" she inquired.

With a hollow laugh he leaned toward her. "People on my bad side usually end up dead."

She grinned, wiggling her toes beneath his outstretched feet. "You didn't answer the question."

"If you keep pushing me I'm going to take you over my knee and spank you."

"You gonna keep the gloves and police uniform on while you do it?" Biting her lip, she tried to appear as innocent as possible despite the mischievous glint in her blue eyes. "Have I been a bad girl, officer?"

The grin on his face widened, turned almost menacing. "Roleplay, huh? You never stop surprising me, Harley."

She shrugged. "I like a man in uniform."

Shaking his head, he sighed in the general direction of the ceiling. "Goddamn, sometimes it's like I made you in a lab. Next thing I know you're going to tell me you're into knife play."

For just a moment she considered it, imagined allowing him to pull a knife on her. It was no secret he was fond of them, probably would have gotten off on cutting her clothes off. In her mind she could see it clearly, could feel herself starting to come around to the idea, picturing his careful movements and the cold steel close to her skin.

And then the image of Victor Zsasz hovering over her with his wicked knife filled her mind and she immediately tensed, all other pleasant images erased from her mind as dread filled her.

"Don't think so," she muttered, pulling a face.

He cackled, completely unaware of her sudden unease. With a wink he leaned forward, tongue snaking across his lips. "Seemed worth a shot."

"I don't know," she laughed.

"Good things come to those who wait." He smirked and batted her hands away from his knees before turning to sit with his feet on the floor. "Given enough time, Daddy will get you into all sorts of kinky shit, sugar."

Batting her eyes at him, she tucked her knees and teased her fingers up his thigh. "Is that a promise?"

He pulled a face, twitching away from her touch. "I don't make promises, sweetheart."

Unphased by his pointed avoidance, she slid toward, pressing her hand against his hard length through his slacks. "But you are a man of your word, so give me your word."

Hissing through his teeth, he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her across his lap facedown. The gasp she let out made him cackle and when she tried to wriggle away he held fast to her.

"Ah-ah-ah, none of that." The smirk was audible in his voice. "I told you if you kept pushing me you were going to get spanked."

Harley let out a squeak and tried again to push away from him. A gloved hand settled on the back of her neck, burying her face in his thigh and muting the scream that tore up her throat even as anticipation shot through her. Carefully he adjusted their position, not allowing her an inch of room to fight as he moved to the middle of the couch.

When she tried to throw her head back, his fingers tangled in her hair and tugged just enough to send a warning. Immediately she stopped fighting, trying to hide her anxious giggles against the couch cushion as he moved his legs beneath her.

Eventually he settled with a thigh beneath her ribs and the other supporting her hips. His fingers hooked against the elastic waistband of her sweats and he tugged them down to expose the embarrassing white cotton panties Zak had picked up for her.

Clearing his throat, he barely contained a giggle in his chest. "Well, aren't those sexy?"

"Fuck you," Harley muttered against the couch cushion.

"Oh, you're going to, sugar." Even through silk gloves she could feel the heat of his hand against her ass. "Little bit of foreplay first. Gotta see how much kinky shit I can get you into while I've still got time."

Turning her head, Harley winced as rough fabric scraped against the lacerations on her face.

"What do you mean?" It was almost a whisper, but by the way his body seemed to tense she knew he had heard.

He sighed and moved that hand from her neck to run the length of her hair. "Let's not talk about this now, honey, you're killing my mood."

With an audible breath Harley began to rise to her hands and knees. He was quick, though. In one swift motion his hand swung back and connected squarely with her right buttock.

Hot pain bloomed beneath his hand right along with the fire that began to light up her insides. The shriek she let out was more surprise than discomfort, but he immediately massaged the tender pink mark with a careful hand.

"If you're going to make me talk," he spat, leaning down to let his breath tickle her neck. "I'm going to make it interesting for both of us. Now lay back down, sugar."

A quivering breath slid in through her teeth and she nodded her understanding as she lay back across his legs.

Grinning, she turned her head just a bit to meet his eyes. "I think I like it."

He raised his eyebrows as though impressed before giving her a matching pink welt on the other side. Cursing through the sting, Harley threw her head back and dug her fingernails into the couch.

"Ground rules, Jack." The words left her mouth before she was fully aware of them, but they gave him pause all the same. "You have to talk to me if we're going to keep this up."

Another slap, this one not as gentle as the first two, had her biting back a whine of pain.

"Fine." His thumb traced patterns into her now-pink skin. "When I tell you that I don't have long I mean just that. I'm probably not long for this world. You can't actually expect me to live through trying to take over Gotham. Someone is bound to get me eventually. The Bat Man or the police…someone is bound to catch up with me. And when they do…it ain't gonna be pretty, sugar."

"Don't talk like th – AH FUCK!" The sound of his gloved hand against her skin echoed off the rafters and she felt tears sting the corners of her eyes, though it was unclear if they were from physical pain or the weight of his words. Through a few heavy breaths, she managed to choke them back. "Are you telling me that I'm just here to entertain you while you strategically plan your own death?"

She earned herself two blows for that, both rapid fire and unyielding. It had her whimpering even as heat built between her legs.

Even with the residual sting on her skin, she wanted nothing more than to straddle his lap and fuck him hard. It was mystifying how he did this to her, how she felt so much more at ease with him than any other lover she'd had. Even with the hovering threat of his mortality and the very real possibility that their time together may be short lived, she wanted to hold on to each moment for all it was worth.

"You know what your problem is, Harley?" His hand traced the curve of her bottom down to her thigh. "You focus too much on the future, you're not living in the here and now. And that's all we've got. The present is the only thing that matters. Life is like a big puzzle made up of these tiny pieces of forever and you have to collect them as you go. If you stop counting pieces that are missing and focus on the ones you have, life is much simpler."

Light fingers traced down her thigh and she tried not to shiver at his touch. "But I want more of my pieces to have you in them. I want to share as many small forevers with you as I possibly can."

"That's real sweet, sugar." His fingers stroked against her sex through her panties. "But you have to understand that this was supposed to be the end of the line, and then you came along and fucked it all up. All I wanted was to go out with a bang, all fireworks and chaos as the city burned around me."

She took a deep, shaking breath, bracing herself for the sweet sting of pain as his hand settled back against her ass. "And now?"

Silence spread between them, so thick her lungs threatened to burst with it.

"Now?" He exhaled the idea of a chuckle. "Now I'm so goddamn focused on how wet your panties are that I can hardly think straight. What the hell are you doing to me, Harley? Everything is unraveling and it's all your fault."

Peaking back at him, she noticed that his face had suddenly turned grim. That hand on her bottom drew back one last time and slapped against her so hard she actually yelped. Color burst behind her eyelids and she had to bite her tongue to distract from the sting. He gave her two more, just as unforgiving as the first, as he muttered profanities that she screamed back at him. When he'd finished he sighed, settling his hand against her burning skin and massaging it with a careful palm.

Breathing hard, she rested her flushed face against the couch cushions. Her limbs were buzzing with tension, the sting from her skin giving way to a dull throb that pulsed with her arousal.

"For what it's worth," she panted, voice quiet and hoarse. "If you don't come home tomorrow, I'm spending the rest of your fortune on grad school and cocaine."

For a moment he was quiet, the movement of his hand pausing as he digested her words. Then he laughed, a great cackle that shook his shoulders as his arm wrapped around her and hoisted her up to straddle his lap.

"What about your fancy new apartment, sugar?" His thumbs pressed against her hipbones. "Zak picked you out a good one."

"If you don't come home I'll be able to pick one out all by myself." The elastic waistband of her pants rubbed against tender skin and she winced.

The insistent circles of his thumbs paused, his eyes searching hers. "You know you never fail to impress me, sweetheart."

She smirked, insides tangling at the thrill of his approval. "Is it my superior wit?"

Sucking on his scars, he looked cynically at her. "Something like that."

She giggled, leaning forward and pressing a light kiss to his mouth. He responded in kind, cupping her cheek with a careful hand and kissing her breathless. For a moment he pulled back, removing the gloves from his hands before reaching a hand between them to rub against the wet fabric of her panties.

"You really did enjoy that, didn't you?" His lips brushed against her ear and she moved her hips against his hand in response.

Nodding enthusiastically, she closed her eyes and focused on his touch.

His scarred lips curled into a smile against her skin. "You want me to fuck you for being such a good girl?"

"Yes, please."

The smile that took his lips was genuine and she knew her reply had been exactly what he'd wanted to hear. Anticipation shook her limbs as he pulled her close to kiss her again.

A knock on the door made her jump and he cackled as he lifted her from his lap. She frowned, ignoring the rush of disappointment that washed over her as she pulled up her sweatpants.

"Guess I'm going to have to give you a rain check on fucking your brains out, sweetheart." He grinned as he stood from the couch, ruffling her hair as he began to swagger toward the door.

"You going to make it worth the wait?" she teased and giggled when he pulled a face at her.

"Nah, I'm just going to bend you over the couch and have my way with you." Winking over his shoulder, he snickered at the way she pouted at him. "You've been getting way too mouthy and spanking you didn't help, so I'm going to have to think of a better punishment."

She opened her mouth to tell him she was looking forward to it, but knew better as she watched him become the Joker with each step. Shoulders hunched, head at a crooked angle, he made his way toward the door. By the time it swung open, there was a sneer on his mouth and his black eyes had become void.

Swallowing her words, Harley made herself as small as possible on the couch as she watched a large man she did not recognize shrink at the sight of her lover. The man's voice was hushed, shaking with excitement and fear as he relayed his message.

"He's going to turn himself in," the man said twice, giggling each time. "Tom says Harvey Dent is in on it, but he doesn't like it."

"Dent? What's he got to do with it?" His tone had taken on that nasally lilt and she could almost see the way his yellowed teeth gnashed with the question.

"Dent thinks it's a bad idea."

The Joker threw his head back and cackled. Cracking his neck, he regained his composure almost instantly and stared the man down with dark eyes. When he spoke, his voice seemed impossibly low. "So the Bat Man finally decided to turn himself in?"

Nodding stiffly, the man glanced uncertainly into the apartment. Immediately the Joker frowned, moving snake-like back into the man's line of vision.

"That's all I need from you, Melvin." Sneering down at him, the Joker pointed out the door. "Now go gather the boys. I'm going to have some errands that need to be taken care of, understand?"

Melvin nodded again and this time the Joker nodded along with him disingenuously. "Good. Now scoot."

The door slammed as the man turned to run back down the stairs. Rolling his eyes, the Joker stalked back toward his desk, brushing past Harley without a word. His tongue snaked across his lips and she swore she could see the pistons firing in his mind.

Whatever he was thinking about, whatever he was planning, he was already in deep with it and she remembered Zak's warning about how focused he became while working. His mouth twisted with words never quite spoken, his fidgeting hands balled into fists at his side and uncurled just as quickly. Sitting heavily in his desk chair, he picked up a pencil and set to work on something Harley could not see.

The next step of the plan was finally falling into place and Harley felt uncertainty and fear nest deep within her. Their small piece of forever appeared to grow smaller by the minute and she feared it would disappear completely before she had the chance to properly appreciate it.

Taking a deep breath, she tried to remember J's words. To live in the present and not worry about the impending doom of the future. As she picked up her sketchbook from the floor and set to work finishing the drawing she'd tried to get J to pose for, she could not help feeling that focusing on her future was simply in her nature.

If the Batman really was turning himself in and the Joker planned to go after him, that future seemed to grow bleaker by the minute.


	12. Drain The Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harley learns the meaning of consequence a few times over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, at the end of this chapter there is some more of that good ol' graphic violence. If that isn't your thing, I will put a summary at the end of the chapter.
> 
> CW: This chapter also mentions sexual assault very vaguely.

"I'm living on shattered faith  
The kind that likes to restrict your breath  
There's never been a better time than this  
Suffocate on eternal bliss."

~The Distillers "Drain the Blood"

///

J liked to smoke while he worked.

He'd been hunched over his desk ever since one of his goons had informed him the Batman intended to turn himself over to the police. His eyes burned and his mouth twitched with half spoken words as he worried his scars with his tongue. Every so often he put a cigarette between his lips. Half the time he didn't bother to light it.

There was an irritated static in the air about him, the unsettled atoms beginning to electrify the rest of the room. She knew he was getting somewhere when he would suddenly curse or slam his pencil down on the age-worn papers splayed out in front of him. He never stopped working.

Harley felt it was almost a relief to have him turning his priorities elsewhere. She had enough entertainment to remain occupied for days and had never required much attention from others. Being left alone for a few hours was a welcome reprieve from feeling the need to entertain him every time they were together. It was comfortable to occupy the same space without actually interacting, a simple act that felt natural and oddly domestic.

It would have been absolutely perfect if J had been capable of working quietly.

As it stood, he seemed incapable of doing so and she found concentrating on anything completely impossible because of it. Between the furious scratching of graphite on paper and his constant muttering, the only thing that her mind was capable of grasping was her growing frustration.

There had to be a way to shut him up, to get away from him, some place she could go to have a bit of peace and quiet. She wondered if taping his mouth shut would do any good, but knew him well enough to be certain he would find some new and creative way to cause even more trouble that way.

"Don't bother me, Harley," he had said, and she had listened.

Unfortunately, there were no rules against him bothering her.

Slithering off the couch, she made her way over to the kitchenette and poured the last bit of coffee into her mug. She started another pot immediately, knowing that J needed it if he planned on working all night.

As if reading her mind, his head snapped up and he smacked his bare lips expectantly.

"Five minutes," she said, slouching against the counter. "Just started a new pot."

No response other than a dramatic roll of his coal black eyes as he turned back to the blueprints. Harley barely resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him.

Sweet, blessed silence settled in the air while the coffee pot percolated happily. Even the rustle of paper seemed muted as J switched from his blueprints to a map of the city. It didn't last nearly long enough, but she brought him another cup of coffee as soon as it was ready.

There was something slightly intimidating about nearing J's desk as he worked. The air seemed to fizzle around him with pent up energy just waiting to be released. A look at the papers in front of him did little to clue her in to what he was planning. A map of Gotham was laid out all marked over in messy red pen, as were the blueprints peaking out beneath the corner of the map.

"Whatcha workin' on, sweetie?" she inquired, deciding to hold his coffee cup hostage until he acknowledged her.

Black eyes raked across the map to her face, blinking slowly as he turned his attention to her. Reaching for his coffee, he nodded at the map in front of him as though that should be all the explanation needed. The red X's marked through downtown meant nothing to her and he didn't bother to elaborate on it. Pulling a face, she pointedly stepped away from his outstretched hand.

And then she noticed the seeming starting point, circled in bold pen with messy arrows pointing back to it. She recognized that location, began to piece together what he was mapping out.

"Is that the police station?"

The moment she stepped back toward the map his hand latched onto her arm and pulled her hastily forward. Snagging the cup of coffee from her hands, he set it on the desk and turned back to his work without a word.

Harley was annoyed now. No, not annoyed, angry. She had passed annoyed some time ago when his work habits had kept her from immersing herself in one of her new books. If he was going to keep her from doing what she wanted, it felt only right to return the favor.

Resting her palms against the desk, she leaned forward and studied the route he was mapping out. There were no highlighted streets, no notes to indicate his planned path. It didn't make sense, not unless that circled building was the destination rather than the starting point. She leaned further still, her mind trying to wrap around the method to his seeming madness.

"Move your head, Harley." It was the first thing he had said to her in hours and he sounded pained to so much as acknowledge her presence.

Undeterred, she put herself squarely in his line of vision. "Why is the GCPD building circled on your map?"

The sudden pressure of his hand pushing against her face drew a surprised cry from her as he shoved her away. Stumbling backward, she lashed out a hand that would have struck him had he not caught her wrist in his bruising grip.

"It's ob-vious-lyyy a destination, sweetheart." His hand twisted painfully around her wrist, refusing to let go even as she tried to writhe away.

"Destination?" That didn't compute, not even slightly. "Are…are you trying to get caught?"

Hissing through gritted teeth, she allowed him to drag forward before falling across his lap unceremoniously. The sheer force with which he pulled her would have sent her toppling backward had his arm not wrapped around her waist to secure her.

"Don't ask questions you don't want the answer to, sugar." Grinning against her skin, he dug his fingers into her side.

She let out a screech, trying to escape him with flailing limbs. He let her go without hesitation, frowning when she hit the floor in a heap.

When he spoke, that edge had returned and she knew he was out of patience. "Now be a good girl and leave Daddy alone."

For a split second he grinned at the way she cringed at the name.

Something came over her then that she couldn't quite explain. Didn't even process it until the words were spilling from her lips in a waterfall. "Sorry, Daddy, I just wanted some attention."

His entire body went rigid before his eyes slid shut and he seemed to collapse in on himself. Growling low in his throat, he swiveled his chair to face her. It became infinitely clear she had his attention then and she smirked at him to show that she knew exactly what she'd done.

"You…" It was almost a laugh, though cynicism leaked into his tone. "You little minx. Ya know just how to get my attention, don't you?"

The moment he rose to his feet and towered over her, she felt a shiver course through her. Swooping down like a hawk capturing prey, he ran a thumb over her cheek before slipping his fingers into her hair and holding tight.

"I have work to do." He leaned close, the tip of his nose nearly brushing hers. "I thought you had things to entertain yourself with. What happened to that, hmm?"

Heat transferred from his body to hers and she became acutely aware of his free hand moving to hold her chin. Breath caught in her chest, even as she tried to frown at him and felt her stitches tug unpleasantly. It was all lost in heat, the pounding of her heart, the way his mouth quirked as he wet his lips.

"You're not answering my question, Harley."

There was an edge to his tone, a splash of anger masked beneath condescension.

Her teeth dug into her bottom lip as she shrugged, knowing she dare not admit he had been the problem. His eyes were far too dangerous for that sort of behavior.

"I…I…" The words refused to form on her tongue and his grip on her hair tightened with each stuttered syllable.

"Harley, if I hear that word one more time…"

"Will you fuck me like you promised to hours ago?" Her hands moved to his hips, his chest, and came to rest around his neck. "I don't know what you do to me, but every time we're close…"

All of his breath seemed to leave his lungs and he hung his head as though defeated. It had been the first thing she could think of to distract him, the only way to get those black eyes off of her, and by some miracle it had worked. If he was going to distract her from her books, it seemed only fair to return the favor.

"It's…it's just all I can think about." It was a lie, but she had invested in it now and fucking him never seemed like a bad idea. Reaching up to push a stray hair from his face, she adjusted her position slightly to press her chest against his. "I just thought…you've been working so long and… I just thought… maybe clearing your mind would do you some good?"

He laughed, just as she expected he would.

And then he kissed her, fierce and desperate and bruising, which she absolutely had not expected. Her face ached, stitches pulled unpleasantly at the muscles they fought to hold together. When she tried to shrink away he followed and she realized that this was a test of her intentions.

Immediately her mind shifted, her body responding to every twitch of his. Her fingers curled into his hair and tugged, pulled him flush against her as she used him as an anchor to rise to her feet.

For a moment he held her there, kissed her breathless and pressed against her until it felt they would meld into one.

And then he pulled back, rested their foreheads together as he sighed and shook his head, his laughter ghosting over her neck.

"Harley, Harley, Harley." He ground his hips against hers and she could feel his arousal. "Always trying to distract me, sweetheart. It ain't gonna work this time."

Kissing her forehead, he pushed her to arms' length before turning back toward his desk and stalking away.

Disappointment shot through her, made her insides cold and desolate as she watched him move across the room. For just a moment she had nearly owned him. Had witnessed firsthand just how tightly he was wound around her finger.

And just as quickly as she'd felt he was hers, he reeled back and pushed away with all of his might. She knew him, knew that he would never return her feelings the way she longed for. His main objective was the hostile takeover of Gotham, and their relationship would always be an afterthought.

Her bones felt heavy beneath that realization and she felt tears sting her eyes.

Hated were these moments when he made her so weak, so powerless and insignificant in his grand scheme. She craved some amount of worth, some feeling of meaning beyond their physical attraction.

The world seemed to be crumbling at her feet, and he could only spare a glance in her direction. "Go entertain yourself, sugar. I'm working."

"Well, what the hell am I supposed to do while you're working?" she demanded, slumping like a spoiled child. "You're too loud, I can't concentrate on anything."

He didn't respond, didn't even look in her direction. Had his tongue not flicked across his lips in irritation, she would have been convinced he didn't even hear her.

"J, please…" Her voice trembled around the words. "Just…just take a minute…for me. Maybe I could help you…"

Five breaths passed – slow and deliberate – as she waited for him to react. Held in the sixth with the hope he would acknowledge her, before letting it out in a huff when he took out a red marker and scribbled something on his map.

"I'm going for a walk." It was hardly more than a whisper, her irritation palpable in the air. "Come find me when you pull your head out of your ass."

She stomped across the room, stuffing her feet into shoes and throwing on her hooded sweatshirt in a mix of curses and half-hearted threats of never coming back. It was not until her hand was on the doorknob that she heard movement across the room.

J was standing at his desk, hands balled into fists against the stained paper of the map. For just a moment she hoped he was going to come running after her, that he would take her by the arm and lead her back to bed with strong hands and desperate lips. That he couldn't allow her to leave angry.

Hand hovering inches from her escape, she turned her attention back to him. Nearly muttered some sort of apology until his gaze snapped up to meet hers.

"There's a knife in my coat pocket." It wasn't a threat or an offer, just a statement that set her skin alight. "You have thirty seconds to take it in case you need protecting out there, or I'm going to use it to cut out your tongue."

Rage came surging back like a tidal wave, tears stinging her eyes as she moved back to the place where his signature purple coat hung from a peg on the wall. With a steadying breath she reached up and slipped her hand into the left pocket. The handle of a switchblade slid into her palm almost naturally and she took care as she removed it from the pocket.

"Twenty seconds." He nearly sung the words.

For just a moment that stopped her dead in her tracks, the blade nearly falling from her grip while she sucked a breath through her teeth.

"Fuck you," she spat, and ripped a handful of knives from his pocket before stuffing them into her hoodie before storming out the door.

He didn't beg her to stay, and she didn't expect him to. There was something incredibly satisfying in hearing the door slam behind her and knowing that she had the last word. Even if he left her feeling wretched and uncared for, she had still won this round.

Crestfallen steps rang off the stairs as she descended to the lower level of the warehouse. Pushing against the exit door, she stepped into the cool night air and briefly wished she had been able to take J's coat with her as the breeze cut through the fleece she wore.

The stench of the harbor greeted her before her eyes adjusted to the near-darkness of the lot, and somehow the familiarity of smell put her instantly at ease. All of her anger and anxiety fell away as a flood of childhood memories pushed to their way to the forefront of her mind. This harbor had been her favorite place for her entire life, and she refused to let J's stubborn disregard for her feelings get in the way of the joy it brought her.

When she was a child, her father worked on the harbor unloading freight ships. She and her mother had visited often, bringing him dinner and giving him a chance to spend time with his daughter, if only briefly.

That was before his addiction came first. Back when he gave a shit about his family, back when he provided for them and could say he loved her while looking them in the eye. Back when he was the father she had always wished him to be.

Age had never managed to taint those early memories, even after her father took a turn for the worse. No matter what she thought of him now, the smell of Gotham Harbor always reminded her of happier times.  
It made her feel like a child again, and in that sense her soul seemed to be put at ease.

Filling her lungs to the brim with briny air, she let out a sigh and made her way over to the dock, watching the harbor lights dance in shades of yellow and green across the black water. Years of waste and debris made the water look especially toxic under the glow of those lights, and for a moment she wished she had brought her art supplies with her to render that filthy sheen on paper. It reminded her of the stories that her friends in school had told, those urban legends about a man that fell into the harbor and was mutated into a horrifying crocodile monster.

Or had the crocodile man fallen into the sewers?

Memory failed her, but she chuckled at the thought as she settled cross-legged on the dock. It had been years since those stories were told to her and it was all fantasy regardless. She wondered if children still tried to scare each other with such things. If like-minded little girls had found the story as believable as she, if they had wished they could go exploring the sewer system and underground tunnels beneath the city in search of the source of all of these stories.

In a city like Gotham, it was easy to blur the line between fantasy and reality. As a child, Harley had wanted the city to be the magical place she always dreamt it to be. She had no concept of the true horror those fantasies could be in practice. How a masked vigilante dressed as a bat would become the hero Gotham idolized, or that one night would bring all of her darkest nightmares to life when some madman released hallucinogens into the air, and never in her wildest dreams had she imagined getting involved with the most wanted man in the city and find herself involved in his plans to go toe to toe with the aforementioned vigilante.

Digging the heels of her palms into her temples, she tried to push thoughts of J as far from her mind as possible.

She was still furious with him, though it was becoming difficult to pinpoint exactly why. Harley had always been a fiercely independent creature and it felt wrong to be so upset over being denied a little attention. Even having her offers of sex repeatedly turned down should not have been enough to turn her into a pouting child. If she was truly so desperate to get off, she was perfectly capable of getting herself there.

All of those things seemed so trivial when she examined them at face value, just as her need to cling to him like a lifeline seemed absurd when she really considered the behavior.

And yet, she could not shake that instinctive need to be near him and spend as much time with him as possible.

Somewhere deep within her she knew their time together was fleeting. That eventually he would be caught or killed, and she would be left alone. His presence in her life was not a guarantee, he was a finite resource burning faster than she could control. There was a very definite end point, one that she knew would come before she was ready to face it. All of his talk of tiny forevers, his insistence that this plot against Gotham and the Batman was supposed to be the fire in which he burned, it was all too much.

She needed to hold him close, to douse that fire before it could consume him and her heart with it. It was unclear to her exactly when she had fallen so fiercely and painfully for him, but he possessed her soul now and she had no intention of reclaiming it. Even if it broke her beyond repair, she knew that she would follow him straight into whatever hell he was creating.

It was pathetic, absolutely ridiculous that one man could have this hold on her. She recognized that and wished beyond reason she could walk away from him without once looking back. After the way he had acted earlier, she very much doubted he would even notice her disappearance.

That was a lie. She knew it was. He needed her, the little bit of sweetness in his bitter world. Without her he was lost, just as she was without him. If she was drowning in this sea of unclear feelings and hopeless need, at least she knew he was sinking alongside.

He just happened to be absolutely terrible at expressing those feelings.

In fact, generally speaking he was an asshole unless it was convenient for him not to be. That didn't exactly bother her most of the time, his quick wit and snide comments made her laugh more often than they actually bothered her. His quirks and humor were dark and charming, his very presence filled her soul to the brim with delight. He was an addiction she could not kick and never wanted to. The high he brought her was well worth the inevitable comedown, even if she crashed and burned when it all ended.

Realization fell upon her then with all the subtlety of a headfirst plunge into frigid water. The psychology student within her screamed at how unhealthy and flawed her thought process was, how her love sounded more like obsession. This was exactly why J was bad for her, exactly why she should run from this while she still had the breath in her lungs to do so.

J was cunning, manipulative, and dangerous. He was the kind of man she had no business getting involved with. Already she was in way over her head and had the scars to prove it.

The scars to match his, the scars that would have been wounds from which she bled to death if he had not saved her.

Because he had saved her life, saved her from being homeless, cared for her and supported her and kept her safe and protected. Call it what he would, those were the actions of a man in love.

No amount of denial on his part could change the fact he was a murderer that self-admittedly enjoyed taking lives and still could not let her die.

Blowing out a breath, she hung her head and tried not to focus on her brush with death. To see J for what he was and the evil he had done, rather than the man she wanted him to be. He was a thief, a murderer, an arsonist, and probably a good bucketful of other things on top of being morally bankrupt.

Not that she was much better anymore.

Perhaps that wasn't fair. Perhaps she deserved more credit. She had not done half of the things he had, didn't have his past or his bloodlust.

But she had killed for him.

Just once, but by most accounts that didn't make her any less guilty than he. She had allowed him to single handedly work Gotham into a terror, to kill judges and cops and innocent people just for a taste of the revenge he so craved. Now she was trying to figure out his plans, had offered to help him bait the Batman after Harvey Dent's press conference tomorrow. The most detestable part of all was that she still wanted to.

If living in the Narrows had taught her anything, it was how loosely defined morals actually were. Poverty made people desperate and desperation made them do crazy things. When she had first learned who J was, back when he had given her that money for her rent, she had not been nearly as bothered by his moral failings as she should have. "Armed robbery" had only bothered her for a moment, overshadowed completely by the feelings he filled her with.

After all, as he had once told her, the city had fucked her over more times than she could count. Life trampled her and every good intention she had was left for dead somewhere along the way. Meeting J had been her first taste of excitement. When they were together she knew she was living for the first time in years.

Life in the Narrows was no life at all, she'd been dead along with the rest of that shithole sliver of the city. She had been physically breathing and her body pumping blood, but the life she had been living was no life at all.

And much as she may consider leaving behind what she had with J, in her heart she knew that she didn't want to. This life with him was fun, exhilarating. For the first time she was appreciating each moment, and though the security of the life she had known was lost forever, the thrill of the unknown had become immeasurably more valuable to her.

This was her life now, there was no going back and she had no desire to. The Joker had changed things forever and she needed to accept that to take whatever steps came next.

She wasn't certain how long she sat ruminating over that thought, but eventually her legs began to cramp and she knew it was time to move. With one last salt soaked ocean breath, she rose from the dock and allowed her feet to take her back toward the warehouse. She had no intention of going back inside yet, she still felt too raw to so much as look at J.

The rhythmic crunch of gravel under her heavy steps seemed to soothe her mind as it harmonized with the water lapping against the dock. Eyes fixed on the glistening water beside her, she traipsed the length of the warehouse without ever giving it a second glance.

Slowly her mind seemed to clear, her life laying itself out as simply as possible before her. There was only this moment, only the eventual return to the upstairs and rush of relief as she and J could again occupy space without the angry tension that had been building as he worked.

Maybe they could discuss that apartment he had been promising her, because the space would do them both some good. Not that she wanted him out of her life, simply wanted to reestablish the boundaries their relationship had when she had her own space.

So much of her current frustration stemmed from lack of personal space, from constantly feeling she was occupying a place in which she was only permitted rather than welcomed. In returning them to familiar territory, she could put boundaries between her life and his work and their time together could be an escape for him rather than an unwanted distraction.

A thunderous bang pulled a surprised yelp from her throat and had her attention immediately snapping to the large semi-trailer to her right. Unsure how she had missed it initially, she blinked a few times at the enormous trailer and processed the sight of it.

"You want that fucking thing to go off?" grunted a voice within. "Worse, you want the boss to come down here?"

Footsteps thumped down the length of the trailer before disappearing within the warehouse, gruff insults echoing along with them.

For a moment Harley stood, staring straight at the grey-white metal behemoth without really seeing it. Without her eyes taking in the carnival painted along the side, or the little catchphrase painted in quirky block letters along with it.

"Laughter is the best medicine."

That made her laugh right out, rolling her eyes at the awful joker. Considering the likely cargo, she felt perhaps it would be prudent to add a garish red 'S' in front of the L. Honest advertising and all that.

The thought only made her laugh harder as she realized J's terrible sense of humor was rubbing off on her. He would find that absolutely hilarious and she promised herself she would suggest the idea when he was in a better mood. Perhaps that was how she would assist in his plan to take down the Batman, by providing more terrible puns for him to consider.

A door slid open on the other side of the trailer and she moved away on instinct. Huddling close to the side of the warehouse, she listened to the voices of the men working around the trailer.

"Boss says we need heavy fire power," one of them was saying. "And the place on 52nd needs to be rigged to blow by afternoon."

The other snorted. "Don't you think this is a lot of bullshit to just fucking throw on us?"

"Hey, man, I didn't know what the fuck I was signing up for with this guy. But the money, dude…"

With quick, nimble steps she rushed back to the warehouse, trying to pick apart the conversation she had overheard. Thus far she knew that the clowns were loading a semi truck with (what she assumed were) weapons, the clowns were discussing needing heavier fire power, they were planning on blowing up a building, the Joker had a map of Gotham with the GCPD building marked as a destination. Her mind jumped about the clues, trying to piece together the seeming chaos of it all.

When she reached the warehouse, she hesitated before pushing open the door as quietly as possible. Slipping inside, she set her eyes on the stairs and took the first four up to the landing near the door to the stairs leading to the apartment.

At the landing she paused, considering the corridor that led to the loading dock where the clowns stayed. There were noises carrying down the hall, the hum of gruffly exchanged insults and heavy objects shifting. Curiosity tugged deep in her gut and she could not help wondering what they were doing. If no one noticed her, she could spy for just a moment and then slip away without consequence.

Fingers tracing the lump of blades in her pocket, she began to move down the hall. There was a certain power in having J's knives with her, a sense of danger and unexplored violent potential. It was like having him there to protect her without his actual presence.

Those knives seemed to be a part of him. She had seen the way he brandished them like an extension of self, how he spun them between his fingers when he was bored or anxious.

The first few times she had noticed the habit it had frightened her. The gleam of steel in the dull lamplight had reminded her of Victor Zsasz and the still-healing wounds on her face and the agonizing feeling of her flesh being sliced apart. Eventually she had been able to coax herself away from that unease, the psychology student in her easily looking at the problems with her thought process and picking them apart.

Fear of an object did not solve her problems, and she knew those knives would not turn on her of their own volition. True power came from overcoming her fear and gaining power over it, which was probably also why J favored knives the way he did.

And now they were hers, if only for a short time.

Metal double doors separated the loading dock from the corridor, one of which was propped open with a large brick. She paused at the threshold, peering into the large open space and watching the bustling activity within.

There were crates all lined up and ready to be moved by a group of men in clown masks moving methodically down the line. Two were noting the contents of the boxes, while others followed with pallet jacks to load the crates into the semi trailer.

In a few light steps, she slipped behind one of the boxes as the men moved back in her direction. Though she was not exactly forbidden from interacting with the clowns, J had warned her to stay away from the main part of the warehouse. Deliberately disobeying that order undoubtedly drew his wrath, if he ever found out.

Voices drew near and she moved further behind the crate, kneeling between it and the wall. With each step the clowns took toward her hiding place, she could feel her heart rate quicken. The frantic pounding nearly drowned out the sound of their voices and the list of supplies they were going over. Her breathing sounded too loud, each quivering stream of air sucked into her lungs roaring in her ears like the sea.

The crate two away from her hiding spot groaned as the lid was removed and she drew a deliberate breath through her nose and exhaled between pursed lips. It should have calmed her, slowed the racing of her pulse, but those footsteps were drawing too near. Voices that had once seemed so distant were now nearly upon her.

"….sawed off shotgun. Rocket propelled grenade launcher. Twenty projectiles. Ten boxes of shells. Am I missing anything?"

No reply, but the two moved on regardless. The lid slammed down in a cloud of dust so quickly that Harley had no time to react. Her breath turned into a ragged gasp and she held it in attempts to fight against the sudden assault on her lungs

Those footsteps drew closer still and she closed her eyes tight as they watered in response to the tightness in her throat. If she moved a muscle, so much as tried to exhale, she would inevitably cough and sneeze and give away her position. Tension made the muscles in her face ache and her stitches pulled painfully, but still she refused to respond. Every fiber of her body begged to protest, but this suffering was far more pleasant than the repercussion of being found.

Her head was spinning now, the muscles in her arms and legs cramping from panic and lack of oxygen. Just a minute longer, just a few more seconds and they would move on. They had to, for her sake she absolutely needed them to.

They were right above her now, the lid of the crate she was hiding behind squealing as it was lifted and again as it fell moments later once the contents of the crate had been noted. Blood pounded in her ears hard enough to deafen her, the exact location of the clowns lost as her lungs seized and she had no choice but to draw breath.

One swift breath through the nose, exhaled through the mouth in a rush. And another because her head was pounding and she could no longer figure out how loud she was. She needed air. That was all she knew. All that mattered. Just steady breaths and a constant fight against the urge to choke on the dust coating her esophagus.

Eventually the pounding of her blood and ringing in her ears began to quiet. Her muscles relaxed and body ached as she came back to herself slowly. Her hearing returned gradually as moments passed, the voices of the clowns now distant and seemingly unaware of her presence. There was movement to her right, but too far away for her to be detected in the darkened corner she hid.

At the far end of the room, she could hear Zak's voice shouting orders to move the last few crates into the trailer. Mumbled acknowledgements of the order preceded any movement and slowly the boxes to her right began to move away.

She needed to get out of the room, to get back upstairs before she was discovered and had to contend with further wrath from the Joker. Angering him with her words was one thing, but spying on his men would certainly be another. With how hesitant he had been to allow her even a glimpse at his plans, she was certain he would be irate if he learned that she had been seeking out answers on her own.

Not that she had learned much from this little excursion.

Pressing her back against the wall, she drew the breath meant to convince her to head upstairs …

and sneezed it right back out.

It was a quiet noise, far more soft and innocent than it felt. For one still moment she waited for signs that the clowns had missed the noise. That she would still have time to escape without their notice.

Silence made her insides go cold, sweat breaking out across her brow.

She needed to move, needed to get back upstairs before she could cause any more trouble. This was a terrible idea from the start and she was completely clueless as to why she had believed it to be a good plan for even a moment.

"What the fuck was that?"

"Hell if I know. Came from over there."

Immediately her hand went to her pocket, drawing out a black handled switchblade with a silent curse. Gripping it tight, she began inching backward in the direction of the door. The movement was clearly too slow, however, as hushed voices and quick feet headed toward her. Stomach dropping into her toes, she resigned herself to the least ideal route imaginable.

If she was going to escape, she had to risk being seen.

Jaw clenched, she lifted herself from the floor and sprinted toward the hallway. Angry calls bit at her ankles and suddenly a stampede of feet were gaining on her. Daring a glance over her shoulder, she counted at least four men in clown masks running at her.

Panic bloomed within her as she imagined what they could do to her, what J would do when he found out she had been prying into his plans. Already she could hear his lecture and feel the anger behind the hands she knew would hold tight to her as he spoke to ensure she was giving him every ounce of her attention. And she would give him everything he desired in spades, pout her lip and ask him to forgive her.

That was assuming the clowns didn't kill her first.

She'd barely made it past the hallway door when the weight of another body forced her to the ground.

Screaming in surprise and terror, she hit the floor thrashing. Her fingernails tore at the hands of her attacker, reached back and tried to gauge his eyes.

Though her physical body landed on the concrete floor of the warehouse, her mind plunged straight back in time. Back to the apartment, back to Victor Zsasz and the certainty that she would be dead if she did not fight with every ounce of strength she possessed.

"Little fucking bitch!" the man on top of her roared, grabbing a fistful of her hair and slamming her head against the concrete.

The world twisted painfully, darkness creeping into the corners of the blown-out lights around her. Immediately she stopped fighting, but only because movement was making her stomach sick. Refusing to let go of the knife tucked into her fist, she gathered her wits through shaking breaths as the other clowns gathered to find out what the fuss was about.

Two pairs of shoes entered her line of sight as the man that had tackled her grabbed her wrists and held them behind her back. Craning her neck, she looked up at the two masked men in front of her, both masks reminding her of something out of a horror movie. One with shockingly yellow hair and a smile sculpted onto its lips, the other wearing a permanent frown on its blue mouth.

Snarling like a cornered animal, Harley squirmed and tried to escape the hands of the man holding her. Because he was definitely a man, his large calloused hands seeming to not know their own strength as he ground her wrists into the small of her back.

"LET ME GO!" The defiant cry did little for her situation, only made his grip on her tighten.

"Shut the fuck up."

"DO YOU KNOW HOW PISSED YOUR BOSS IS GOING TO BE?" she demanded.

Shifting his body, the clown forced his weight down onto her hips and pressed the cold metal barrel of a pistol into the back of her skull. Her stomach turned, and she lay completely still, unable to even breathe.

"Careful, Melvin, don't do nothin' stupid," warned the smiling clown. "Boss will cut off your cock and feed it to ya if you kill her."

Snorting at the idea, her attacker dug that barrel even harder into her skull. "What the fuck do you know, Scotty?"

"I know better than to fuck with anything the Joker thinks is his." The smiling clown – Scotty – looked to the frowning clown beside him for support.

Silently, the other clown shrugged, cocking his head to the side as he stared down at the scene before him.

Each attempt to draw air had Harley biting back a sob. Tears burned her eyes and travelled the valleys of her face, burning the lacerations on her face. This was too fresh, too familiar. Her mind struggled to separate the past from the present, and she was certain this would be where she died regardless.

Back to the apartment. Back to Zsasz. Back to that knife digging into her cheek…

The pistol at the base of her skull shook slightly as the man holding it spoke. "What were you doing spying on us, bitch?"

Sniffling, Harley shook her head. "I wasn't! I was trying to find the Joker."

"Liar!"

There was a soft click and she knew he had turned the safety off. Nearly choking on air, Harley shut her eyes tight and held even more firmly to the knife in her hand.

"You know, just because you're fucking the boss doesn't make you some kind of fucking authority around here." Her wrists were shoved into the small of her back hard enough to draw a cry of pain from her, and her attacker made a sound of approval. "In fact, I'm curious to know what it is about your pussy that has him so goddamn mesmerized. I'm tempted to find out."

Nearly gagging at the implication of this man's intent for her, she pulled futilely against his hands. When he pushed her back down, she swore she heard something in her shoulder pop and it shot pain through her entire arm. Swearing fiercely, she hissed and shrieked but could not managed to fight through the searing pain in her shoulder.

A responding yell from the other side of the loading dock had the feet in Harley's line of vision shifting uncomfortably. Even the gun was pulled back slightly as another man came running to where she lay.

Relief washed over Harley immediately at the sound of Zak's voice, though deep seeded dread still filled her knowing that J would likely be here soon as well. "Anyone mind telling me what the actual fuck you idiots are doing? Melvin, dude, what the shit? Are you threatening her with a fucking gun?"

Neither of the masked clowns spoke, the smiling one going absolutely rigid as Zak began to circle the scene. The other shifted his weight from foot to foot and his scuffed brown shoes caught Harley's attention. She knew those shoes, knew the legs attached to them and the funny way those sauntering steps hardly made any noise against the concrete he moved out of her line of vision.

"We found the boss's little whore trying to spy on us," Melvin replied through gritted teeth and Harley would have snorted in response had her little epiphany not been filling her with dread.

Zak made the sound for her, drawing his lips back from his teeth in a snarl. "You mean to tell me that you found the boss's girl downstairs and thought the proper response was to hold a gun to her head?"

"And threaten to rape her." Harley could not hold back the words, or the disgust behind them.

The entire room went silent, everyone collectively holding their breath as the words hung between them.

Carefully Harley began to adjust the wrist of the hand holding J's switchblade. Made certain her fist was angled perfectly toward the wrist of the man above her as her fingers caressed the handle of the blade. Scuffed brown shoes returned to her line of vision and she stared into the red lined eye-holes of the clown's mask before pressing the release button on the handle and driving the blade straight into the wrist of her attacker.

Hot, thick liquid ran over her hands and wet her back as the man above her screamed. Gun and restraining hands both fell away as the man pulled away from her to wrench the switchblade from his wrist.

Thrashing with all of her might, Harley managed to throw the man off balance and slithered away from him just as the clown in the frowning mask came rushing forward. Backing to the far side of the room, Harley watched him grab the man by his collar and slam him against the wall with enough force to make his head snap back into the bricks.

In a series of movements too quick and precise for Harley to follow, the knife was tugged out of Melvin's wrist and pressed directly against his jugular.

"Oh, Melvin, you reeeally ought to learn how to, uh, treat a ladyyy."

Every ounce of blood in Harley's body froze, her stomach turning painfully as she recognized the Joker's voice behind that mask. It was him, of course it was him, which meant he had witnessed that entire ordeal and now everyone was going to pay.

He didn't waste a moment in stripping off the mask, revealing his still-bare face underneath. Drawing his lips back from his teeth, he pressed the knife more firmly to Melvin's skin, drawing a thin line of blood that rolled onto the already wet blade.

"Boss!" Voice breaking in horror, Melvin tried to shrink back from the knife and the man holding it. "I…I was just playin' around. You know I wouldn't…I w-w-wouldn't…"

"Y-y-you w-w-w-wouldn't?" High pitched mockery rang off the walls, reminding Harley of that night in the slaughterhouse. That was the only other time she had really witnessed the Joker in full form, and this served as a harsh reminder of exactly who shared her bed.

"No, sir, I wouldn't have hurt her." Even when frightened for his life, the man could not tell a convincing lie.

"No?" Raising an eyebrow, the Joker glanced back at Harley. "I did."

Dumbstruck, Harley opened her mouth as though objecting. His eyes narrowed instantly and she shrunk back against the wall. Curling her knees to her chest, she watched as the knife moved from the man's neck to his lips.

Worrying his scars with his tongue, J hushed the man's startled cries and ran a gloved hand over his hair as though trying to soothe him. "Didn't you wonder how she got those little beauty marks? Or weren't you paying enough attention when you tackled her like a fucking football player?" He chuckled, rolling his eyes in disgust. "If you didn't want to hurt her, you really shouldn't have done that. See, when you knocked her over like that, you knocked all the air out of her. She's just a little thing, you know? You could have crushed her."

"I'm sorry, boss, I…."

There was a snap like the breaking of a stick and the man howled in pain, holding his now-broken finger in a blood covered hand.

With a crack of his neck, the Joker whipped his head around to meet Harley's eyes. "Come here a second, sugar."

Shaking her head, Harley refused to move an inch. Dark eyes moving between she and Zak, he cocked his head before turning back to his victim.

Almost instantly there were hands on Harley's upper arms, hoisting her up even as she growled in protest. Zak and Scotty-the-smiling-clown ignored her protest completely and led her straight across the room.

Knowing better than to cause more of a fuss, Harley allowed them to lead her across the room and stand her next to J and Melvin.

An almost imperceptible nod passed between Zak and the Joker before both clowns let go of her. They were bodyguards, she realized, positioned there to stop her only if she ran. That had been an order not to touch her unless absolutely necessary, setting an example for the fool that had tried to stop her by force

"Now, uh, you understand why I'm upset, don't you Melvin?" Raising his eyebrows encouragingly, the Joker nodded in response to his own question in lieu of confirmation from his victim. "You see, my little, uh, whorre, as you called her…she's very delicate. And you know what else she is? She's mine."

His eyes searched Melvin's face, drinking in every ounce of fear in the man's expression. From his shaking limbs and quick breathing, to the sweat glistening off his skin, this man was practically ready to piss himself in terror. The Joker grinned, showing off his yellowed teeth as he swiped a hand over Melvin's perspiration soaked hair.

"I'll be honest, I'm a verryyy possessive man, Melvin. I hate when other people touch my things. Especially when they try to break them." Another snap and cry of pain that didn't even give the Joker pause in his speech. "I put those scars on her face to mark my territory. Nobody is going to question who she belongs to when her pretty little smile matches mine. And you, Melvin, you not only touched her, you came incred-uh-bly close-uh to breakinggg my favorite toy."

Biting her lip, Harley fought against the urge to yell at him for talking about her like an object. It was humiliating and degrading, which seemed to be exactly what he was going for. He knew exactly what to say to get under her skin, and this was clearly his way of getting back at her for getting involved in this mess.

"You know, I think her head is already starting to bruise from where you bashed her skull into the floor." Melvin's head connected with the wall three times before the Joker seemed satisfied, and pulled the dazed man away from the wall before shoving him onto the ground.

Melvin groaned, rolling onto his side and cradling his head in ruined hands. "I'm sorry, boss, I didn't think – "

"Well, that much is obvious, sport, but we aren't done playing yet." Kneeling beside him, the Joker motioned to Harley to come closer.

Melvin made to sit up, sensing that something terrible was about to happen. Without hesitation, the Joker surged forward and slammed the man's head into the concrete floor until crimson streaked the concrete and he went limp. Teeth barred and breathing heavy, he turned back to Harley and motioned to her again.

Watching in horror, every rational part of Harley's mind told her to refuse, to stay as far away from him as possible. And somehow his face made it abundantly clear that resisting was a far worse option.

With careful steps she obeyed, reaching out and taking the hand the Joker extended before kneeling beside him. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he positioned her in front of him and covered her shaking hands with his.

Lips pressed to her ear, he held her flush against him. "It's alright sugar, Daddy's got ya."

His breath was hot on her skin and she tried to ignore her body's instinctive reaction to his touch. Her insides twisted and deep down she knew it was not from fear, even as he transferred the knife from his palm to hers.

"What are you doing?" she asked, heart dancing in her chest.

"We are going to give Melvin a taste of his own medicine." He licked his lips, breathing heavy against her neck. "He would have hurt you Harley. He would have killed you."

Harley shook her head, squirming in attempts to escape his arms. "I don't want to. I told you I wouldn't kill anyone else and I meant it."

She trashed violently and he wrapped a hand around her throat in warning.

"Hey, hey, hey. Fine." Vice-like arms refused to let her go and he pressed his lips against her neck to quiet her protests. "We won't kill him."

"Then let me go!" Her squirming earned her a warning squeeze around the hand that now held his bloody knife.

"Not so fast, sugar, I just said we weren't going to kill him." His thumb stroked her jaw and she could feel his body shaking with silent laughter. "You're still going to give him what he has coming."

Again she shook her head, fighting his words and forcing them from her mind. "No no no. I don't want to."

"Oh, but you do, sugar." The hand on her throat travelled the valley between her breasts to her hips. "You really do. I saw the look in your eyes when you stabbed him. You liked it. You knew he deserved it."

With a sinking feeling, she realized he was absolutely right. She didn't want to admit it, didn't even want to think about what that said about her moral standing, but at her core she knew it to be true. The knife driven into Melvin's wrist found its way there because she felt he deserved it. He had intended to hurt her, so she hurt him first.

And now J was going to help her make sure he learned his lesson.

Swallowing hard, she tilted her head to look back at the Joker. Even bare faced, those dark eyes seemed to suck in all of the light from the room. He was a void, a black hole, and she was but a satellite lost in his gravitational pull.

"What do you want me to do?" It was barely more than a whisper.

Drawing a deep breath through his nose, J closed his eyes for just a moment to digest the words. Savored the way they felt ringing in his ears.

And then he glanced up at Zak, impossibly dark eyes looking between his right hand man and the victim on the floor. A wordless exchange passed between them as Zak set to stripping off the man's damp t-shirt and using it to haphazardly bind his hands.

"I want you to hurt him, Harley." He shifted his body and she realized how close they were, how intimate his touch felt. When he inhaled the scent of her shampoo, she felt his chest rise and fall against her shoulder blades. When he spoke, his lips brushed against her ear. "I want you to make sure he knows not to fuck with you again."

Relaxing back into his arms, she shook her head in confusion. "I don't know – "

"Shhhhshshshush." His tongue caressed her earlobe and he nipped at her skin just enough to make her gasp. "Follow my lead, sugar."

Together they stared down at the man's exposed skin and he led her hand in settling the blade against his large stomach.

The first exploratory swipe of the knife barely pierced skin, didn't even draw enough blood to wet her fingertips as it ran up the length of the man's abdomen from hip to sternum. It made him scream, though, shocked from unconsciousness and howling like an animal as he tried to sit up.

Immediately Zak's steel toe boot slammed down onto his chest, holding him in place.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he wailed, trying to escape his captors.

Harley's conscience screamed in protest and she tried to drop the knife and move away. Still the Joker's hand held tight to hers and she choked out a sob as he pushed her forward and began the process again, deeper this time.

"No, no, no."

But her protest was entirely lost on him. He hummed low in his throat and sucked at the skin of her throat as he began to lead her hand again.

This time the knife was buried to the hilt and Harley could hear the wet squelching of muscle tearing as they ripped through flesh and muscle. Her stomach turned and she swore she would be sick, tears stinging her tightly closed eyes.

"That's right, sugar." J's voice in her ear made her gasp. The hand on her waist held her a bit tighter as the blade curved and their victim gurgled on his attempted cry. "Keep your hand steady. Just like that. Good girl."

And somehow those hushed platitudes were enough to keep her head above water. Each softly spoken word drowned out the roar of chaos and pain around her. She clung to those words, to his body pressed against hers and the thumb rubbing measured circles against her hipbone.

At the start of Melvin's rib cage the blade stuck and his body convulsed in agony. The sound he made was hardly a cry, his body seeming to have trouble coping with the pain he was in. But it was a scream all the same, and enough to knock Harley from the trance she was in.

Immediately she pulled back, shaking her head furiously.

"I'm done." There were suddenly tears running down her cheeks and each exhale became a wail of horror. "Let me go! I'm done!"

Through the blur of tears she could barely make out the bloody scene in front of her. But she could see red, so much blood covering the man's entire abdomen and spilling onto her hands and arms. Blinking a few times, she noticed the deep tissue exposed and what looked like intestines glistening in the light each time the man gasped like a fish for breath.

"Oh, fuck." Her stomach turned and she felt certain she would vomit. "Oh fuck, oh fuck. I'm done. I'm fucking done!"

The Joker made a noise of loud disappointment, but wasted no time in pulling her backward away from the mangled body. Resting her back against the wall, he stood straight and turned to Zak and the clown.

"Take him and stuff him." There was not an ounce of emotion in the words, like he was talking about disposing of garbage rather than a body.

Harley craned her neck to examine Melvin's suddenly still form. "Is he dead?"

Ignoring her question completely, the Joker looked between the two men. "I want you to make sure the others see him, you understand? And make sure they know who did it. "

Scotty set to work in following orders wordlessly, gathering the man's feet and beginning to pull him back toward the loading dock with awkward, stiff limbs. Each movement drew a cry from Melvin and Scotty hung his head as though trying to drown out the sound with his shoulders.

For a moment Zak hung back, watching the trail of blood that followed the body.

"What would you like me to do with him?" he asked, standing straight and waiting for orders like the soldier Harley knew him to be.

"I told you." The Joker grinned like a shark. "Stuff him."

Zak blinked. "With what?"

Shrugging, J began to saunter back toward Harley. "Whatever it takes to make him your escape route."

Something between surprise and anger darkened the medic's face. "My escape route?"

"And mine, I suppose." He frowned, looking over the streak of red on the floor. "Didn't think you were getting out of coming along tomorrow, did you?"

Zak swallowed, shaking his head as he attempted a weak grin. "Can't let you have all the fun."

Though he tried to laugh, his tone betrayed exactly how little he was looking forward to whatever tomorrow held.

Without another word, he followed the red trail to assist the other clown with moving the body as Harley tried to decipher what exactly he and J were on about.

As soon as the men disappeared, the Joker turned his full attention to her and she could feel his eyes burning her alive. His entire demeanor changed in that moment, his face losing any hint of humor.

"Well, you really managed to get into trouble this time." There was disappointment in his voice, and something else. Something deeper that bordered on thinly veiled rage.

A fresh wave of anxiety washed over her as she watched his swaggering steps. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to – "

"You never mean to, sugar." Shaking his finger as though scolding her, he turned his eyes to the ceiling. "But that doesn't make you any less of a liability."

Guilt settled deep in her bones and she hung her head in shame. "I guess this means I've gotta stay upstairs from now on, huh?"

He snorted, shaking his head in disapproval. "No no no, honey, it means you've gotta get out."

The words didn't register entirely and she tried to object, only to have him swoop down and press a bloody finger to her mouth.

"Maybe you didn't hear me correctly." Those black eyes held hers and she didn't dare look away, even as her mind began to bend around what he was saying. "You need to get the fuck out."

It felt as though she had been slapped, her insides growing cold as panic set in. "But – "

"I SAID GET. OUT." A wet glove gripped her hair and he pulled her to her feet. "You have five minutes to get upstairs and pack your bags. And then you are going to get in the car and you are not going to say a goddamn word, do you understand?"

He nodded her head yes for her before shoving her away with enough force to send her staggering.

She wasn't certain how she remained standing with the entire world shattering around her. The very idea of going back to the apartment in which she had been attacked, a place she no longer felt safe or welcome in, felt like too harsh a punishment for what had just transpired.

"J, please, don't make me…"

When he looked at her again, his face held no hint of sympathy. It seemed to physically pain him to put his eyes on her. Her hands gripped the lapels of the button down he was wearing and the contact made his face contort as though she had burned him.

Though his voice was even and deceptively calm, he seemed poised to rip out her throat. "Don't fucking touch me, Harley. There was one place in the entire warehouse that you knew better than to snoop around, and you went poking around anyway. Do you not have an ounce of self preservation or are you really just that fucking stupid?"

"I'm not – "

His eyes rolled shut and he seemed to physically restrain himself from strangling her as he placed her hands on her shoulders and shoved her away with a growl. "Do. Not. Talk. Just this once, for the love of Christ, do what you're told before I fucking kill you myself."

It wasn't a joke, there was no humor in the words. That was a threat and she recognized it as such. Her entire body ached with the words and she had to physically fight back the sickness in her stomach.

Everything felt cold, distant. Her mind could not comprehend what he was telling her, but she knew that she needed to move or he was going to become even angrier with her.

Frightened and defeated, her shaking legs carried her up the stairs and she managed to pack most of her belongings into a bag. She felt like a zombie, her body on autopilot as her mind rotted within her skull. This was too overwhelming to feel real, too horrible to be anything but a nightmare.

He allowed her a moment to wash her hands in the sink and change her blood soaked shirt, but did not once meet her eyes the entire time. It seemed as though her very presence repulsed him, and he left the room before she could attempt to apologize again.

It wasn't until she was in the passenger seat of the SUV with two bags in the backseat that the gravity of the situation began to settle fully on her shoulders. He was making her leave, she would never see the warehouse again. If he so chose, he could drop her at her apartment and she would never see him again.

The Joker climbed into the driver's seat, wordlessly slamming the keys into the ignition and tearing out of the parking lot with a cigarette burning between his lips. He didn't look at her, didn't speak, and when she reached toward the radio he batted her hand away without actually making contact.

Pressing her head against the cool glass of the window, Harley watched the warehouse shrink into the night and finally allowed herself to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick summary: J makes Harley cut the dude open and it doesn't kill him but she freaks out, refusing to take a life again.


	13. You've Got A Killer Scene There, Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harley pieces together J's plan.

"Don't wanna love you no more  
Don't wanna love you less  
I wanna be crushed by your sweet caress  
What's the fucking difference  
We're all gonna die  
You wanna do something killer  
Come on, give it a try"

~Queens of the Stone Age "You've Got A Killer Scene There, Man"

///

"This is your stop, cupcake."

Harley blinked, eyes straining against the glare of streetlights. Though she was uncertain how long they had been driving, the road had become a blur of synthetic light and piercing darkness. The clock on the dashboard read 4:32am.

Slowly she began to adjust to being stationary and looked about the world around her. The towering trees and glow of neon and fluorescents that illuminated J's sneer as he sized her up, his tongue flicking over his lips in irritation. It took Harley's drive-hazed mind longer than necessary to realize they were not in the Narrows, her old apartment nowhere in sight.

Instead they were parked in front of an old motel in an area she did not recognize. Judging by the large trees and star-speckled sky, she very much doubted they were even in Gotham anymore.

"Where are we?" Half of the question came out as a yawn.

By the way he smacked his lips and narrowed his eyes, she knew he was still angry. The memory of his fury was so fresh in her mind, every word spit from his teeth leaving her flayed alive and raw. Seeing such blatant disgust in his eyes had her biting back a fresh wave of tears.

"I told you, this is your stop." He poked the unlock button on the door a few times as though proving a point.

Irritation rose from her depths, anger surging up like a tidal wave ready to drown him. If seeing her so heartbroken over his rejection had not won her an ounce of pity, she would find a new way to keep him by her side. There was enough fight in her to outlast his stubborn anger and she would gladly waste his time sitting arguing her case until he agreed to keep her around.

"I heard you the first time, the problem is you're not making any sense." Her hands curled into fists in her lap. "I don't know where we are, this isn't my apartment, and frankly I don't like the look of the place. You can't just leave me here and act like this gross fucking motel is a perfectly logical place to abandon me!"

By the end of the statement she was screaming at him, eyes burning into his. He shrugged and his neck popped. Glancing at the building beside them, he sighed heavily and shook his head.

"Get out of the car, sweetheart."

Furrowing her brow, she followed his eyes to the nearly empty lot outside. The SUV was running, the gearshift still positioned in drive. If she left the car now, there was not a doubt in her mind he would leave her without a second thought.

"No! You can't make me!" White knuckled fingers gripped her seat as though it would save her from his rejection.

Growling out a low threat, he unclipped her seatbelt and pointed out the door. "I am not gonna leave you, Harley, just get out."

"No! The second I get out of this car you're going to leave! You're gonna drive away with all of my shit and leave me for the meth heads that are probably hiding behind this shady fucking motel."

Throwing the car into park, he killed the engine and huffed. "You are reaaallyyy close to my last nerve, you know that? It would be in your best in-ter-ests to do as I say. Get out of the car, Harleyyy."

There was no mistaking the venom in his words, but like a stubborn child she refused to cooperate. "You first!"

For a moment he looked absolutely livid. Lips peeled back from his teeth and he snarled as though readying himself for the attack.

And then he sighed, opened his car door, and took the keys from the ignition.

In one fluid motion he slid out of the car and slammed his door before coming around to the passenger side. Wrenching her door open, he took hold of her arm, but made no move to actually pull her from the vehicle.

"Are you gonna get out, or am I going to have to drag you, hmm?" He rolled his eyes and she was almost certain the right one twitched.

She didn't respond. Could hardly hold back the sob that built in her throat in the face of his rage. This whole night had been so horribly overwhelming and she could not cope with his condescension.

"Please don't…" Her voice broke, much to her dismay.

Dreading the very idea of allowing him to see her cry again, she slipped out of the car. Didn't even look him in the eye as she bounced out of her seat and landed next to him on the pavement, throwing his hand off like a spider. With a shrug, she turned to the back door to retrieve her bags. Refused to so much as acknowledge his presence as he leered over her.

"We don't have time for this," he hissed.

In an instant he was on her, slamming the door as she attempted to open it and spun her around like a ragdoll.

Bruising fingers dug into her upper arm and she let out a cry of pain and frustration. Her entire body seemed to go rigid beneath his touch and tears stung her eyes. She didn't fight them this time, even welcomed their stains on her cheeks and the boiling rage they displayed.

Frustrated and hopeless, she let out a sob as her back connected with the car door. Every fiber of her being felt heavy, her mind too spent to process the turmoil of the past day. All she knew was that she hurt and she wanted nothing more than to make him hurt in any way she could manage.

As he brought his face close to hers, she raised a hand and slapped him so hard her palm stung. Her fingernails dug into the scar tissue of his cheek, leaving garish red lines in their wake. Head snapping sideways, J let out that knee jerk chuckle that always accompanied pain.

Harley knew immediately that she had made a mistake.

His head fell forward and she could feel his eyes burning into her through the veil of stringy green curls that fell in his face. And then he laughed, a quiet breath that quickly grew to a manic cackle as he grabbed her wrists and pinned her against the SUV.

"Now, that wasn't very nice." He bared his teeth in a grin that made her insides freeze. "Are you gonna say you're sorry? Hmm?"

Unable to continue staring into those black hole eyes, Harley shook her head and looked down to her feet. Immediately his hand was gripping her jaw, forcing her face to level with his.

"Look at me." The words were ground out against his teeth, their venom stinging her skin as he pressed his chest against hers. "Haaaarrrleeeey. Look at me."

Her chest seemed to constrict around her pounding heart. Eyes stinging, she buried her face against his shoulder. "I'm sorry."

Smirking, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against the shell of her ear. "Oh… trust me, sugar, you're gonna be."

Still gripping her wrists like a vice, he turned and led her toward the seedy motel. She wanted to protest, wanted to scream and yell and refuse to leave the car.

This motel was a death sentence for their life together. The moment he put her in that room he would leave and she would never see him again. He had told her to get out and she knew he meant it. After all they had been through, all she had done and sacrificed for him, she couldn't let it end here.

As they neared the door, he pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked it hastily, shoving her inside the moment it opened. Stumbling, she looked around the dark room feeling like a child terrified of the creeping unknown of surrounding darkness.

He leaned into the doorway and sneered when she turned back toward the door in attempts to escape. "Stay. Here."

Panic bloomed deep within her and she shook her head insistently. "No, no, J please." She reached out and gripped his collar, desperate to keep him near. "Please, please don't leave me."

For a moment he stared at her strangely, as though he did not understand what was being asked. The rage contorting his face softened ever so slightly as he noticed her white knuckles gripping the lapels of his jacket. Her grip tightened, tears falling freely as anguished sobs shook her shoulders.

Carefully he took hold of her hands, eyes catching hers as he sucked on his scars. "Sweetheart, Daddy has to go get your bags and finish up some business. Stay here and make yourself comfortable."

With a measured shove, he pushed her into the encroaching darkness of the motel room. Immediately she tried to run for the door, but he caught her shoulders again and held her tightly in place.

"You're going to leave!" Her voice shook, hands trembled. "You say you're just going to get my stuff, but you're going to get in the car and leave. I know it!"

Rolling his eyes, he sighed heavily and stepped fully into the room, flicking the light on as he went. He dropped his hands and watched her for a moment, searching for any hint that she would try to run for the car again. The door snapped shut behind him and he leaned against the frame after a moment to block her exit, crossing his arms over his chest.

"And, uh, whyy would I do that?" His face welcomed an answer, but his eyes remained too black for her to stare into.

That question confused her, had her at a loss for words as she blinked at him. She had been so convinced that he would leave her at the drop of a hat. When he had demanded she get out he had been so angry, she could not possibly imagine him forgiving her so quickly.

"Haarleey." He practically sang her name, stepping away from the door and stalking toward her. "Why would I want to leave you here, hmm?"

A gentle hand reached out and placed a stray curl behind her ear. Teeth digging into her lip, she reveled in the warmth of his touch. Tears she didn't realize were shed stung her lacerations and her lips trembled each time she tried to speak. Admitting she had done wrong felt like a damning herself.

"Because…because you told me to get out. Because I didn't listen. I know you don't even want to look at me. I fucked up too bad this time."

It seemed so obvious as she stated it, but that quizzical look did not leave his features.

He laughed, just a quiet chuckle as he shrugged and traced a gloved thumb along her stitches and brushed a tear from her cheek. "Sugar, I couldn't let you stay in the warehouse after what you did, so we got you out and brought you here. That doesn't mean I'm going to leave you all alone."

Completely taken aback by how seemingly nonchalant he was suddenly acting, Harley stared at him for a long moment. "You're…you're not mad?"

"Mad?" Another chuckle, this one quick and bitter. "Oh, honey, I'm furious. But that doesn't mean I'm going to leave you. No, no, no. I'm going to punish you."

Crossing her arms defiantly, Harley scoffed at the comment. "Punish me? What? Are you going to spank me again?"

"Don't tempt me, sweetheart." His eyes raked shamelessly over her figure as he came to stand nearly flush against her. "But, no, I don't think so. You need to actually learn your lesson for this one. Maybe I should leave ya alone for the night, hmm? Give you some time to think about what you did. Do you think that would teach you to do as I say?"

Rolling her eyes, she crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm not a child, I don't need to sit with my nose in the corner or go to my room. Are you going to fucking ground me? Not like I get to do anything anyway!"

He pressed a finger to her lips, his face growing suddenly dark.

"Shhhshshsh, stop talking sugar." With a put-upon sigh, he glanced up to the ceiling as though searching for support from some unseen god. "Just when I think you're coming around, that mouth of yours get you into even more trouble."

Somewhere deep in her gut there was the compulsive urge to take her words from the air and swallow them whole. Completely erase her fire from his memory so that he would bring her into his arms once more and love her the way she so desperately wanted him to. Maybe if she just stopped talking back…

NO! NO! NO!

She knew better than that, better than to let some man dictate how she should feel and what she should say. Nothing could douse her fire, not even his scrutiny and chiding words. Though her temper was admittedly short, she had reason to be upset. It was just as legitimate as his frustration with her.

Pushing away from him, she shook her head. "You're being an asshole, you know that? I have done nothing…"

Without missing a beat, he shook his head and began advancing on her again. "Yoouu broke the rules."

"Whose rules? Yours?" Taking a few steps back, she curled her hands to fists and raised her chin in defiance. "You do nothing but go on about how pointless the world's rules and laws are because you're such a fucking edgy anarchist, but I step a toe out of line and you get angry and threaten me. You're a fucking hypocrite, you know that?"

Blood red tongue prodding the crease of his scars, he tried to shrink her with void black eyes. "I'm trying to protect you."

Harley snorted. "You did a great job of that, didn't you? You watched that fucker threaten to rape and kill me!"

"You're still breathing, aren't ya? Your, uh, lady parts weren't violated. " Clicking his tongue, he tilted his head to a painful looking angle. "He would have killed you if I hadn't been there."

That last thought was nearly a whisper that could have been mistaken for a threat had she not seen the way his eyes glimmered for just a moment in the dim light of the hotel room. Harley's heart nearly stopped at such a show of real fear, but still she refused to give in to his sentiment. Fear did not change the fact he had forced her to carve that man alive.

"I protected myself, though, didn't I?" Her voice barely quivered with the memory. "I rammed a knife into his wrist and then…"

The rest of the thought nearly made her sick and she swallowed thickly around the sudden lump in her throat.

A grin wide enough to show all his teeth took J's face. "And then what, sugar?"

It was as though he fed on her weakness. Were he a god, each drop of acidic fear and regret that lingered within her would have been offered up as a sign of worship. She was a priestess sacrificing blood upon his pagan altar in hopes of a few fleeting blessings.

Setting her jaw, Harley shrugged. "And then we carved him up to remind him who he was dealing with."

J stood straight, seemingly impressed by the sudden chill in her words. "Yes we did...But you wouldn't have been able to do it without me, would you, sugar?"

Harley frowned. Some gods were never satisfied.

Bristling, she glared every ounce of fury she could muster straight into those black hole eyes of his. "Maybe I would have surprised you. I can protect myself, you know."

"Is that so?" He quirked an eyebrow, began tilting his head side to side and slowly working his shoulders loose. "Prove it."

The speed with which he lunged at her didn't seem quite human and he was on her in a second, forcing her back against the wall and wrapping his hands around her throat. Gasping for breath and reeling from the sudden escalation, she struggled to remember anything she had learned in that self-defense class during her sophomore year of college. If he wanted her to prove she was able to protect herself, she would give him all the fight he wanted and more.

Slowly she began to assess the weak points in his attack, slammed her arms against the inside of his elbows to force his hands from her throat. The moment she could breathe, she shoved him back. He hardly stumbled, growling as he lashed out as though to grab her, but she ducked away just in time. Keeping her momentum, she twirled around him as though dancing to a long-forgotten song.

Each twist of her body and sway of her arms had to be perfectly calculated. She landed a blow to his ribs that she traded for a grab at her arm that nearly threw off her balance. And then his leg caught her ankle and she fell to the floor with a grunt of disappointment.

Rolling back to her feet, she came around behind him and ran with reckless abandon. She pounced like a cat on a fly, wrapped herself around him and held tight. There was a hint of surprise in the swear he let fly as he spun and clawed at her arms digging into his throat. The wall met her back with more force than she had expected, but she clung to him through the stars that exploded behind her eyelids.

His hand went to her hair, grabbed it near the scalp and yanked hard enough to make her cry out. Still she clung to him, her vision tingeing red as she wrapped more tightly around him. Against her forearm she could feel his muscles tighten as he wheezed for breath.

"Harley!" He coughed and stumbled toward the bed. "Can't…breathe…"

Again his hands tugged at her arms, more desperate than last time. He seemed weak and this time she did let up for fear of hurting him.

Immediately she regretted it as his body swayed suddenly to the right and she lost her grip. The edge of the bed attempted to catch her, but her falling trajectory was wrong and she tumbled to the floor with a groan.

This side of his foot tapped her side just enough to sting.

"You're not giving up yet, are you, sugar?" His voice was hoarse, but the challenge rang true and Harley rose to it.

Climbed to her feet a little unsteadily, but squared up to face him with a smirk. "Not a chance."

He came at her swinging, snarling like an animal as she squeaked and sidestepped the attack. A blocked punch to the ribs, careful steps and claws on wool. He swung at her and she put her gymnastics skills to use, arching into a backbend. Her feet kicked up over her head and she was upright in one smooth motion that had him whistling and mocking applause.

Without hesitation she aimed a kick to his stomach and he grabbed her ankle. Would have pulled her clean off her feet had she not been ready for him and used the momentum to drop into a handstand and bounce back to her feet with long forgotten grace.

They spun and swore and teased threats while neither actually landed a blow to the other. The right hook she threw at his face was deflected easily and when she continued to spin and nearly connected with the back of his skull, he caught her arm and gave her a playful swat on the ass.

She giggled and slapped his hand away, realizing quite suddenly that he was flirting with her. They were roughhousing like children, both giggling and taking care not to actually hurt the other and it was deteriorating into foreplay.

They were a chemical reaction, all acids and bases that never managed to find balance. This play-fighting was just the show, the sparks and bubbles. But she was ready for more than show, she wanted ions and fire and permanent bonds. For their individual elements to collide and become something new and more dangerous as one.

Narrowly dodging a blow to her ribs, she held tight to his wrist and side-stepped. Pressed her body against his for one electric second and grabbed his tie to pull closer, her lips inches from his. He drew in a breath, half-lidded eyes sweeping across her face before he shoved her away.

This time when he took a swing at her ribs she didn't try to deflect or dodge, and the moment he realized what she was doing he pulled the punch and instead made a grab at her shirt. Laughing with delight, she allowed herself to be pulled against him once more. Arms wrapped around her waist and hoisted her skyward, tossing her onto the bed carelessly. She bounced once, the entire room a blur of color and her laughter ringing off the ceiling.

And then there was weight on her hips – his full weight – as he straddled her and gathered her wrists in one hand. Their ragged breath filled the air, his body pressing against her and pinning her down.

Loosening the tie around his neck, he sighed and grinned down at her. "Not bad, sugar."

Pride swelled in her chest and she smiled right back as he managed to finish unknotting his tie and pulled it from around his neck.

"I told you I could defend myself," she said matter-of-factly and he didn't argue.

Her face hurt from smiling, suddenly intimately aware of their closeness and the heat of his body. Rough housing had been so chaotic, so unexpected, but the act had purged the anger from her mind. Now, with him carefully undressing on top of her, all she could feel was the anticipation tensing her limbs.

She tried to hold it at bay, to tend to more important matters before she gave in to desire. The entire day had been one endless stream of stress and chaos and all she wanted was to make things right for both of them.

"I really am sorry, you know?" Her throat felt tight admitting it, but a weight lifted from her with the words. "If I would have known, I wouldn't have gone snooping."

His eyes slipped shut and he nodded, his nose brushing hers. "I know, sugar."

"I really didn't want to cause trouble. I just wanted to know what you were hiding from me. That's why you didn't want me to go in the receiving dock, isn't it? Because you knew I would figure out your plan and you were afraid I'd be angry."

When he didn't reply she feared she had struck a nerve and worked quickly to cover her tracks. Pushing herself up slightly, she pressed her lips to his. When he didn't immediately reply, she pressed her chest flush against his and arched her back with a sigh.

Slowly, so slowly, he began to come around to her. To press against her and inhale the scent of her skin as his lips worked against hers.

She smiled at that, reveled in the taste of his tongue and his body beginning to mold to hers. His lips moved to her jaw, her neck, and she egged him on with enthusiastic sighs. Though it had only been a day, maybe two, since they had fucked against the wall in the warehouse it felt like ages. Like she had been denied his touch for longer than she could stand and needed it like breath in her lungs or blood in her veins.

Warm hands traced the trail of her arms, pressed against her breasts, and came to settle on the hem of her shirt. With careful precision, he pushed the fabric up and over her head, hardly breaking away from her as he did so. Her entire body quaked with anticipation, electric limbs pushing the coat from his shoulders and tangling in his hair.

She undulated against him, smirking as his breath caught and he whispered her name against her flushed neck and shoulder. Lifting her slightly, he unhooked her bra and slipped it off before sucking and licking his way down her sternum, leaving purple marks like kisses.

Her hands roamed over his shoulders, his chest, and when he again took her hands in his and placed them delicately over her head, she did not fight him. She was too lost in his touch, too overcome by anticipation to notice the silk that ghosted over her skin.

And then he pulled back, an exaggerated frown tugging at his scars as he let out a sigh. "You let your guard down, sweetheart."

She raised a sardonic eyebrow. "So?"

That silken tie wound about her wrists, snaking around and between them to bind her hands tight. Her heart began to pound as realization set in and she felt a surge of panic mix her raw anticipation.

"What are you doing?" she gasped, trying halfheartedly to get free before he finished tying her.

"Shhshshsh." It was clear he was trying not to laugh as he held her wrists down and lay atop her with his entire weight. "We're just going to play a little game."

Pressing his lips to her forehead almost tenderly, he tightened the knot and she could feel him smile at the way she giggled and shrieked in mock horror. With little effort he pulled her up the bed and finished binding her with a flourish.

"What kind of game?" Her breath was ragged, hands twisting within their prison to test its limits. Though she could still move easily enough, there would be no escape until he freed her.

It should not have surprised her that his expert knots were so difficult to escape considering how quickly he had bound her, how doing so seemed to be as natural as tying his shoes. The harder she tried to fight, the tighter that knot became until it was just shy of uncomfortable.

"Do you trust me, Harley?" His face was suddenly serious as his hand went to his belt and he began to undo it.

Swallowing hard, she considered the question carefully before replying. "Why else would I have dropped my guard so easily?"

A lazy smile took his lips and he rewarded her with a kiss for that answer. A quick brush of his lips, barely lingering, but enough to make her insides dance and twist.

When he pulled back, his black leather belt was already in his hands. He made quick work of looping it over the tie binding her wrists and attaching it to the headboard, completely securing her to the bed.

It occurred to her that this would leave him free to walk away, if he wanted. That she would have no way to keep him from just getting up and locking her in that hotel room until the maids found her in the morning.

Much to her delight, he seemed far more interested watching her adapt to her current predicament and made no move to leave. She gave the binding on her wrists a few experimental tugs against the belt securing them, feeling heat rush straight to her groin. Never before had she experienced this level of vulnerability and it was more of a thrill than she had anticipated.

"So," he said conversationally, sinking back on his heels and fishing a knife from his pocket. "You think that your little jaunt around the receiving dock gave you the inside scoop on my big plans for the police taking the Batman into custody?"

He cocked his head, waiting for her to respond, but she could not find the words. After a moment he sighed, eyes twinkling with whatever mischief he had in store for her as he motioned for her to say something – anything – but should found herself incapable. Her heart pounded against her rib cage, teeth digging into her bottom lip as she shrugged in response.

"That's not an answer, sugar." The switchblade he'd taken from his pocket gleamed in the golden glow of the room and for a moment Harley found herself absolutely paralyzed with fear.

Her mind suddenly overcome with questions and horrible fears, she closed her eyes and tried to ignore the sinking feeling within her. If she focused on it, she could still feel Victor Zsasz cutting her open with a very similar knife, she could still hear the screams of the man she and J had just ripped open like deer ready to be gutted after a hunt.

It would take little effort for J to do the same to her. Though she still had her legs to fight him off, she wasn't sure how much time they would ultimately buy her, and though she knew deep down he had no intention of hurting her, the panic was too raw to talk herself down from.

As though reading her thoughts, he glanced down at the knife and frowned.

"You know better than to think I'd use this on you, sugar." With exaggerated movements, he set the knife carefully on the bedside table. "We just might need it later to get you free."

He giggled and winked at her, but she did not find the prospect as amusing as he.

"So what are you going to do to me?" Her voice shook slightly as fear gave way to anticipation.

"I told ya, sugar, we're gonna play a game." That smile of his had the devil in it as he began to undo the buttons of his shirt. "See I'm not convinced that you figured out all you needed to know about my plans just by seeing my boys work. I was trying to keep you out of there for your own safety, not because of some secret mission. But now you've got me curious. How much do you know?"

Harley opened her mouth to reply, but he shook his head and clicked his tongue in disapproval.

"That's what the game is for, sweetheart." He peeled off his shirt and tossed it aside. "Don't ruin all the fun before it's started. See, I've also been promising you a lesson in patience for a while now, haven't I?"

She nodded, the synapses of her brain beginning to piece together what he had in store for her.

"So you're going to tease me until I tell you everything you want to hear?" she guessed, biting back a grin when he winked at her.

"You're good at this already, sugar." His fingers hooked onto the elastic waistband of her sweatpants and he pulled them slowly down her legs, leaving her naked except for her red panties. "And for every part you piece together, I'll make sure you're well rewarded."

Already her pulse was quick, her skin beginning to itch with tension. "What happens if I get something wrong?"

"Well, then you don't get touched again until you get something right."

"And what if I don't get any of it right?"

He snorted. "That would be a real shame considering how bad you want me to fuck you."

For a moment he sat back on his heels and she was granted the first real look at his naked chest that she had seen since all the chaos began with the mob, since that night in the tacticians' house when they first made love. Though it had been mere days since that first encounter, it felt like another lifetime. She hadn't noticed the bruises then, the deep purple and yellow blossoms spread across his ribs and back, or the scars scattered across his chest that made it appear he'd gone diving in glass. The little white lines drew highways across his skin and she could not help wondering how he had come to own every single one.

His hand traced her ribs to her hipbones, coming to tease the elastic of her panties. Trying to prepare herself for the inevitable torture that lay ahead, she drew her attention back to him and the way he was memorizing her every curve.

"And if I figure it all out?" she asked, pansy-blue eyes catching his.

"If you figure it all out?" he echoed and smirked.

Crawling up her body, he took her face in his hands and kissed her hard enough to make her head swim. His hips lined up with hers and she could feel his arousal, already erect and pressing against her through fabric. He allowed her two rolls of her hips, so desperate and satisfying that she actually gasped and moaned at the contact as though he was already fucking her.

He chuckled at the noise of disappointment she made when he backed away. "If you figure it all out I'll fuck you until we both pass out from exhaustion."

Shaking her head, she pulled a face. "No, I don't think that's good enough. You can fuck me to the point of exhaustion if I get most of it, if I'm in the ballpark. I want something more for figuring out the whole damn thing."

The face he made told her exactly how likely he thought the odds of her figuring out his entire plan were. It was a challenge she gladly accepted, anxious to hear how he would up the stakes.

"Fine." Pressing his lips to the shell of her ear, he began to tease his fingers against her through the fabric of her panties. "If you figure out the whole thing I will let you take control. You call all the shots and I'll do whatever you want. You can come as many times as you like and I'll fuck you til you tell me to stop. How about that?"

"Sounds fun." She moved against his fingers, and gasped when he rewarded her with a more insistent touch. "Can I have hints if I ask for them? I don't have all the necessary information, after all, and it only seems ffff – ah – fair."

Already she could feel him beginning to distract her and realized how difficult it could actually be to keep her head straight through this. Still, she knew it would only take one good orgasm to satisfy her and the rest of his game could be damned after that point. Everything else was simply for fun and the promise of eventual control.

After a moment of considering her proposal, he nodded his agreement and she knew he was as desperate to begin this game as she. "Three. You can have three hints."

Satisfied, she began to strategize how exactly to finish the game as quickly as possible. "Alright. And if I am right up to a certain point, I just have to start over from there, right?"

He laughed, impatient fingers running down her thighs and tapping against her knees. "You ask an awful lot of questions, you know that?"

Shrugging as best she could, she gave him a sly grin. "I'm just trying to make sure I understand the rules."

"Best way to live in this world is without rules, sugar."

"So you've told me."

"And yet, I haven't convinced you."

"You're getting there."

That made him smile, a look that was both genuine and unnerving in its rabid delight.

And that was all it took for her mind to kick into gear, for the pieces of the puzzle to be extracted and stacked together. The map, the semi-truck, the collection of weapons, the man they had cut open and Zak had been instructed to "stuff." It all fit together, even if it felt disjointed.

Some invisible line connected each piece in just the right order, but currently they felt like pieces of ice scattered across the floor. The ultimate goal, she knew, was to do away with the Batman in some way, but that didn't feel like quite the right answer.

Batman was yet another game to the Joker, and Harley knew it was one he intended to draw out for as long as possible like a game of Risk. To the Joker, Batman was a war in and of himself and war games were not won in one chaotic night, if they ever were won at all.

No, Batman was not the real reason for the coming venture, and Harley had no idea what could possibly inspire J to put together such a bold and dangerous plan if not the Bat. Ultimately it was all a satire on law and rules; that much was clear to her. While Batman upheld the law with his own brand of justice and an iron fist that had Gotham's underground holed up in their best hiding places, the people actually meant to uphold the law were worse than some of the criminals. And then there was the Joker, with his anarchy and hate and total disregard for morality. A criminal through and through, but one that had robbed the mob blind and taken out one of their biggest crime bosses just for a taste of revenge.

The pieces seemed to scatter in her mind and she looked down at J as though his eyes could clue her in on something.

"Where would you like me to start?" she asked, twisting her hands against the knots that held them.

"Using your first clue already?" Raising an eyebrow, he shrugged and sat back on his heels.

"No, that's not-

But he was already answering her and she could feel herself bristle as he spoke slowly, as though explaining to a child. "Tomorrow morning Harvey Dent is holding a press conference…"

"Because the Batman intends on turning himself in," Harley finished, disappointed and angry that she had allowed him to take away one of her clues so quickly.

Nodding in approval, J slid his hand beneath the fabric of her panties and ran a finger through her already wet folds. Her breath caught, but only for a moment before she gathered her mind and carried on, trying to ignore the sensation of his touch.

"You told that guy at the door that you were certain Harvey Dent would claim he was the Batman, though whether or not he actually is…" She trailed off, momentarily forgetting how to use her tongue as he began rubbing circles around her clit.

Drawing a deep breath, she locked eyes with him and went on. "It's really unlikely that Harvey Dent is the Batman, but whether it's him or someone else, you have a fucking arsenal ready to break them out of the Major Crimes Unit and dispose of the Batman your own way."

But even as she finished speaking, he was shaking his head and pulling away from her. Immediately she missed the contact, but refused to beg for it. She had answered incorrectly, which meant the only way to convince him to touch her again was to do better.

"Come on, sugar, this isn't amateur hour." He smirked at the way she shifted slightly and tried to keep her face passive as her bound hands curled into fists.

"Right, you're convinced Harvey Dent isn't Batman." Her mouth pressed in a tight line as she did her best not to argue the contrary.

"That's because he isn't, sugar. Your buddy Tom saw the two of them having a conversation, and it wasn't Harvey Dent talking to his second personality."

Rolling her eyes, she conceded the point. "Fine. So, Harvey Dent isn't the real Batman, but he is going to say that he is, which means the police will arrest him in the real Batman's place."

"Good girl." With an approving nod, he slipped her panties off completely, waiting for her to go on before touching her again.

Carefully she spun and flipped the clues in her mind until she was certain how the next few pieces fit together. "So, the first place they'll take him is the local precinct, and from there they will likely have to transfer him to county."

That observation earned her kisses on her inner thigh, his tongue and teeth nearly working her into a frenzy as hot breath came close to her sex.

"And when they do…" She pulled against the bonds on her wrists just to feel them sting her skin and distract from the ache of carnal need. "When they do, you'll…goddammit…you'll fucking…. I don't know. Chase them down in that fucking semi truck?"

It didn't seem like the right answer, not by a long shot, and yet he moaned low in his throat before burying his face between her thighs. It felt like an absolute miracle and she cried out in complete ecstasy. Reveled in the sensation of him consuming her whole until her lack of response brought his movement to a halt.

Desperate for him to continue, she tried to find the words to carry on, still reeling from her last correct answer.

"So…so what? You're going to chase the car with Harvey Dent until you catch him?"

No, no, that wasn't right and his teeth digging a little too hard into the skin of her thigh sent the message loud and clear.

Try again.

"You're going to chase the convoy until…until…um…fuck." He bit down harder and she whimpered in pain, desperate for an answer that would make it stop. "Until you get Batman's attention?"

Correct.

Again he began to tease her, refusing to give her any real satisfaction until she made a significant revelation. She twisted and writhed, almost gave in to the urge to beg for his touch.

"Okay, so you wait for Batman to find you and…and…well, either you kill him or he stops you, I guess?" She remembered this, remembered the map with the streets of Gotham and the precinct circled. The fact he had called it a destination. "You want him to stop you, you want to be caught. You're just making a big scene until they stuff you into a squad car and take you back to the station. You and the rest of the boys, right? Zak and, uh, Melvin for certain because he's your escape plan. What are they going to stuff him with anyway?"

Lifting his head, he quirked an eyebrow at her. "Would you like to use your second clue?"

He sounded like a game show host and Harley giggled as she considered the offer.

"No," she decided. "Not yet."

Lifting his eyebrows as though surprised, he bent his head and returned to the task at hand. She gasped, rolling her hips to egg him on and he rewarded her effort this time, pushed two fingers into her just to listen to her choke on her own breath with how good it felt.

When she stopped responding with words, too lost in sensation to so much as think straight, he sucked on her clit just a little too hard and she fell back to her mind with a surprised shriek.

"Right, okay, okay." Panting for breath, she tried to focus, but found it more difficult than she had ever imagined. "I…I get that youuu…shit. Fuck. FUCK… like, I get that it will be explosives of some kind, yeah? – YES! - I guess the better question would be hhh…how you plan to detonate it. Because once you're in the…mmmmm…Major Crimes Unit all hell is going to break loose. …Can you do that a little bit more? Yeah…just like that!" She nearly lost her train of thought, had to bite her tongue hard enough to taste copper before it returned. "There will be angry cops scared for their lives and wanting to hurt you, and they're going to want to question you, probably. Right? Yessssss. But…mmm…no. They wouldn't – ah - have a good reason to rush into that. They could have you in Arkham before they bothered questioning you."

"Unless I took something valuable from them." His voice was low, eyes burning as he met her gaze. "I'll give you that clue for free, sugar."

It became infinitely clear then that the air was becoming too thick and swollen for both of them. It was hard to breathe through the tension and stench of skin and sex. He wanted to fuck her just as badly as she wanted him to and it was nearly unbearable for both of them.

Still, the game was not over and she sensed there was a long way to go in piecing together whatever chaos was kicking about in his mind. She tried to attune herself to it, to meld with his thought waves and follow the strange spirals and bursts.

"Unless I took something valuable from them."

She'd missed a step somewhere, overlooked a key detail. Once J was caught, once they realized that Harvey Dent was not actually Batman, he would be set free. Sent home to his cute little assistant-turned-lover to revel in the bliss of freedom and sweet victory of having the Joker behind bars.

That seemed familiar, a ghost of thought lost somewhere in the recesses of her memory. Earlier that night when she had overheard the clowns talking from inside the semi-trailer they had said something…something about having the warehouse set to blow.

"Harvey Dent isn't going to make it home." It was almost a whisper, like some jarring psychic prediction and he stopped moving, but she knew it was not because she was wrong. He was listening. "You or the mob or whoever…you've got the cops paid off and you're going to take him to the warehouse. I heard two of the clowns talking about rigging the place to blow. You're going to kill him. That's why we're here, isn't it? It was never about getting me out of there because I had gotten into trouble, you had this up your sleeve all along. Me pissing you off was just a convenient excuse for you to leave with me in the middle of the night so the clowns would stop thinking you had a weakness. You need their respect, and I was making you soft. But why? Why do you need to be caught? What are you after in the MCU?"

Slithering forward, he licked his way up her neck and sucked her earlobe between his teeth.

"Is that a real question?" Those mangled lips grinned against her skin as she nodded.

"Yes. What are you after in the MCU?"

"The mob's bank roll."

"The mob's…?" Trailing off, she tried to make sense of the words, to remember what had started all of this.

True to form, he went back to distracting her. Devoured her with his tongue, his teeth, and brought his hand between them to tease her intimately.

She was on fire, her brain running with speed she could barely follow. Long forgotten details were pulled to the forefront of her mind as she stared him down just to watch the fire ignite deep in the black pits of his eyes as he dared her to explode before she had all the pieces of his puzzle.

There was the meeting with the mob on the day Victor Zsasz broke into her apartment. The one he never really told her about in detail, but she remembered the end result. He had pissed off the mob, told them the only way to keep their investments safe was to kill the Batman and in return they had sent Zsasz to pay her a visit.

The days following that were hazy, but she remembered there being a reason the mob had eventually come around to the Joker's proposition, a reason they hired him even after he robbed them. Something…someone had been taken into custody. A name mentioned in passing that she had found so easy to overlook at the time, back before she was a part of this.

But now she was in the thick of it all and she absolutely needed to remember.

She was part of this now and there was no going back. This night was proving just how in sync she and J really were. How her mind perfectly attuned to his, just as clever and twisted. They were one now, more alike than either of them had ever imagined, and it terrified her just as much as it filled her with pride.

"The accountant!" Her triumphant cry rang off the walls and he cackled at her excitement before rewarding her in kind. "I don't remember his nnname. Lou, maybe? – Ah, fuck - But it's that Chinese guy that Batman brought back frommmm Hong Kong, the one they were going to use – fuckyes - as a witness in the court case against the mob, right?"

"Lau," he clarified, and she could hear him smirking without even looking down at his face. "His name is Lau."

Dark eyes glinting, he pulled back from her and began fumbling with the button of his pants. She had won the first round. Pieced together enough of the plot to convince him to fuck her. It was the sweetest victory she'd ever tasted.

And yet, the revelation was less than satisfying.

"So, you're doing all of this to break the mob's accountant out of jail?" Confounded, she tried to make sense of that, to piece together a better motive.

"It would appear that way, wouldn't it?"

It wasn't a convincing answer. In fact, he didn't appear to believe it himself. Yes, he was breaking into the MCU to set the mob's accountant free, but that was all part of something much bigger.

"So that's not actually why you're doing it," she assumed, trying to adjust her position to get a better look at his face as he towered above her. "That's what you meant when you said you didn't think I'd figure out your whole plan."

Silk burned her wrists as she twisted her hands and arms, trying to pull back ever so slightly.

"I never said that." Shaking his head violently, he grabbed her legs and pulled her down to him.

She made a face. "You implied it."

Even as he smirked at her all wry and cynical, he was lining up their hips. "Stop talking and let me fuck ya, sugar."

She grinned right back, pulse pounding as he teased the head of his cock against her. "I can multitask."

Silence followed and she recognized it as a challenge. There was more to this than Lau, more than the mob and the law and being taken to the MCU. Details were missing, great chunks of the plan that she didn't even realize existed. She needed to reevaluate the whole thing, go every twist and turn with a fine-toothed comb…

And then he entered her and for a long moment she thought of nothing at all.

Together they hung in stasis, both frozen by the elation of finally being joined. One being torn apart and roughly stitched back together, too awed by their union to do anything besides revel in the sensation of being whole again. His face contorted, moving from pained to blissful and settling somewhere around smug.

It was in that moment that she knew he was ready and the next stage of the game was set in motion.

Lifting her hips, she began to move against him. Doing so while restrained was slightly more difficult than expected, but he soon filled the gaps that left them wanting. They became a machine, a furious mess of movement and violence.

He tried to pull her too far down the bed, her arms tugging painfully against binds that bit into her skin in return. She coaxed him back with the smooth roll of her hips and whispered dares. It was a fight, an extension of their earlier dance of fists and claws, and this time she swore she would pin him down.

She waited until they had found a rhythm, a happy compromise, before beginning to unravel the details of his plot to break Lau from the local precinct. It bothered her how basic it all seemed, how needlessly dangerous the execution of the whole thing appeared. There had to be something more, something better that he was aiming for. Killing Harvey Dent seemed satisfying, but even that wasn't enough. Another dead public official was not exactly a waste of time, but to make such a show of it seemed a waste of resources and brainpower.

There was something she was missing, overlooking as she skimmed through the information she had been presented. Whatever it was lay deep within the details, something that had seemed small like an offhand comment or decision.

Her mind kept returning to Harvey Dent. To how integral a part of all of this he seemed to be. Killing him so quickly didn't seem right, didn't even seem plausible. He was the White Knight of Gotham, the district attorney finally bringing the law down on the mob without ever having a scandal to his name.

Not even his relationship with Rachel Dawes brought him any real criticism, despite them being coworkers. Apparently Gotham was fine with public officials fucking their underlings so long as they made a handsome couple.

It was amusing to realize how much disdain she had for that woman. Ever since the night J had come home with her expensive perfume on his coat Harley had seen red at the very mention of her name. At first she had shrugged it off as petty jealousy, but the more she learned about that night the deeper it seemed to run.

From fucking Harvey Dent to the Batman not wasting a moment in jumping out a window after her, Rachel Dawes was the woman that every man in Gotham seemed to want.

At least, those two men. And they seemed to be the two that the Joker had his attention on, which put Rachel Dawes squarely in his radar as well. But her piece didn't fit into the puzzle and Harley felt ready to burn it to save herself the trouble of finding its place.

"Alright, last clue." She threw her head back and arched against him, allowing J to lift her clean off the mattress. "Where…does…Rachel Dawes fit? Mmm … FUCKyesyesyes …. She's …ugh…. she's part of the puzzle. Where? How?"

Jittery hands clawed at her hips and he pulled her against her restraints so hard she actually screamed. Whimpering out a curse, she twisted her hands and tried to pull back. Pins and needles erupted across her skin and the breath she drew through her teeth had more pain than pleasure lacing it.

"Ow, shit." Again she tried to move her hands, but even as they writhed against each other she could hardly feel it. "My hands…my hands hurt so fucking bad."

Teeth digging into her lip, she tried to ignore it, tried to focus on the heat of his skin on hers and the stars she wanted to climb toward. They were too far, those distant galaxies churning just out of her reach as she began to sink from the weight of her pain-clouded mind.

"Jack…" The cry was more insistent this time and loud enough that she was certain he had heard. "I can't feel my hands, Jack. You need to untie me…please."

It was like a switch was thrown somewhere in his mind. She could see him come back to himself all at once, watched the change in his eyes as his hips slowed and he gave her a wry look before pulling back.

"I think you're just saying that," he teased. "What do you need your hands for anyway?"

Even as he said it he was easing her back up toward the headboard, grinning as he leaned over and took his switchblade from the nightstand. Settling against the mattress, she shrugged and then went very still as that knife hovered over her.

"It wasn't the hands so much as the pain." Though she knew he would not harm her, it seemed infinitely more advisable to stay still as he began to slice through the first knot. "I was never going to get off if that pain didn't stop."

"The idea is to have a bit of both, sugar."

Her right hand came free and fell limply against the pillows. She didn't bother trying to move it.

"Yes, but when the pain is overwhelming there is very little pleasure to be had."

"It all depends on your threshold for it." The left hand came free and he winked at her as he returned the switchblade to the bedside table. "And what you're into."

Sitting up against the headboard, she began to massage feeling back into her dead hands. "I'm really into being able to feel my limbs. And, uh, whatever you were doing right before they went numb."

Slowly the blood began to return and the hot blood hurt more than the numbness. When her hands began to shake he covered them with his own and held tight, allowing her to absorb his warmth.

"I don't remember what I was doing, sugar, I was too busy getting distracted by how good you looked tied up."

She giggled at that, leaning forward to kiss him. With the strain on her arms alleviated, she was more ready than ever to finish this game. Deep down she needed to leave him breathless, sated, and awestruck by her mind matching his. The pieces were all laid out in front of her now and she just needed to convince him to help her fit them in their proper places.

Flexing her hands, she made certain they were working properly before placing them on his shoulders. Together they rose to their knees, chest to chest and hip to hip.

Matching, whole.

"You know how I would look even better?" she whispered, her lips barely touching his as she spoke.

"How?" He tried to kiss her, but she pulled back too quick.

"On top of you."

Smirking like every bit of the little minx she was, she gave his shoulders a good shove and sent him sprawling backward. Not wasting a second, she moved up to straddle his hips, positioning herself just above his cock and taking it in her hand.

"Harley!" It was a snarl, a hiss that should have sent fear straight up her spine, but only made her laugh in delight.

"Shhhhh." Tugging at her bottom lip with her teeth, she rubbed herself against him. "You let your guard down."

To her great surprise, he didn't fight her, didn't toss her off or deny her completion as punishment. Instead he glared at her, eventually laying back and moving his hands to guide her hips.

"You better make this worth it," he threatened, though his breath was already catching. "If you don't–"

"You'll dump me and get some other girl to figure out your plans while you fuck her, I'm sure." That was probably a little too far, but she suddenly had the devil in her and no control over her tongue.

Careful not to let him dwell on her words, she guided him to her entrance and sank down with a sigh of euphoric relief. It was so new for them, so rich and adventurous. He had allowed her to take control and she knew better than to waste a moment of it. Hunched over with her hands on his chest, she gave a few experimental rolls of her hips to find her rhythm.

And then she rose tall and proud like a statue to keep that pace and brought her hands up to massage her breasts.

"You know, you never answered my question." Her eyes slipped shut and she leaned back slightly, allowing his hands to keep her anchored. "How does Rachel Dawes fit into this? Like, I get that she is something that Harvey Dent and the Batman have in common, but I don't get what you plan to do with her. You tried to throw her out a window and that didn't work, Batman jumped right after her. And that in and of itself seems like enough reason to at least consider Harvey Dent as a candidate for the role. I mean… - ah – obviously he's not, but you don't just ttthhhhhrow yourself out a window after someone you don't give a shhhhhiiiiit about."

Though he didn't answer the question, he kept his eyes on her, saw the sparks in her eyes and allowed her to see the thought through. She would get there eventually on her own and he intended to let her.

"You could kill her and Harvey, but then what are you left with? Two dead attorneys and an even angrier city. It's not…it's not enough." Her movements slowed as she began to fit the pieces together. "You need something better than that, their deaths have to mean something. This is all about proving a point Gotham…it's about making them see the pointless nature of all of their social constructs, and meaningless death doesn't do that. It just leaves us with more blood on our hands."

His arms wrapped around her and pulled her forward, skin to skin, as he began moving for her. That merciless pace of his made her scream and moan with how right it felt. How he always seemed to be claiming her with each desperate thrust.

After a moment he pushed her back up, guiding her hips with his hands. "Sugar, if you're gonna be up there you need to keep up your half of the bargain, got it?"

"Yessss."

"Good."

This time he filled her just right, kept hitting that spot that made her nerves spark and mind tear from her body. Her skin felt too heavy, the entire room too hot and sticky and nearly unbearable. She could nearly taste relief, but she refused to give in until she had proven her worth once and for all.

"You're thinking about this as two separate things." His voice surprised her, all low and hoarse with the breath that was now a chore to drag into his lungs. "See…escaping the precinct and threatening Harvey Dent is all related. I'm taking something the cops care about..."

"And if you take Rachel Dawes too, you'll take something both Harvey and the Batman cares about." Finishing the thought felt like second nature, a code in her brain dusted off and put to the test after years of lying dormant. "You're separating them. Cops go to save Harvey, Batman goes after Rachel. And whatever team fails – if one of them fails – will be viewed as responsible. The survivor's guilt would be overwhelming… But what if both of them survive?"

Rolling his eyes, he gripped her thighs and picked up his pace and she followed his lead. "Then I fucked something up, but…"

"But it doesn't matter because you still got Lau out, right? You'll still be able find the mob's money." A few gears turned in her mind and something clicked into place, something that had her grinning as she collapsed forward and intertwined their fingers. "You'll have the whole goddamn mob in one place, if that happens. Including their accountant. You can kill every single one of the fuckers and take their money, and you're gonna do it for me, aren't you?"

Their eyes met and she saw it then. Pride lit those impossibly black eyes and she swore there was a bit of awe mixing with it. That was it, the jigsaw puzzle, just as complete as it was abstract. All the pieces fit, the elaborate mess of it all splayed out around them and she and J at the center of it. The eye of the storm with all of its fury and violence, more powerful than the city could possibly imagine.

"You want me to?" he asked, moving a hand to push into her lower back and hold her tight against him.

One hand clinging to his, she moved against him like it was second nature, like she knew nothing else. He explored her skin, memorized every inch and figured out exactly how they fit.

Her breath caught as she ground against him and nodded furiously. "Yessss. Yesyesyes. They…deserve it."

"They do, Harley, they do." He took a fistful of her hair and tugged her head back for better access to her neck to sink his teeth into. "Are you going to help me?"

"Yesss, oh fuck, yes." Limbs shuddering, she clung to him and nodded furiously just to let him know she meant it.

"That's my girl. My brilliant, beautiful girl."

His forehead pressed against hers and kissed him soft as a breath. His hand came between them to rub circles against her clit and she could feel herself beginning to break. Almost there, almost…

"I love you, J."

"I know, sugar."

It was barely more than a whisper, but it weighed an ocean.

That was tender, soft, full of sentiment that Harley could not fully comprehend. Her heart was pounding, his words filling her to the brim and she felt tears prick the corners of her eyes. It felt as though she was overflowing, like a dam cracking and ready to burst.

Burying any fear or doubt that may have accompanied those words, she threw herself against him and lost every thought in sensation. There was nothing else, only this, only them, only a moment that seemed to last more eternities than Harley knew existed. The weight of the air was pressing down on her, suffocating her. Unable to think, unable to breathe, she could only burn.

And burn she did. Collapsed forward and held tight to him as flames consumed them both. He cursed against her skin and buried himself in her as she spit the words right back. It was so much, every twitch and spasm nearly too overwhelming for her to handle. Hardly able to breathe, she rode those flames until her body could not take another second of it. Her entire mind seemed to burn and crackle and drift away like ash.

Face buried in his neck, body still jittery from exertion, she lay perfectly still and listened to the sound of his ragged breathing. Absolute ecstasy gave way to growing dread as she realized what exactly had sent her spiraling over the edge. The fact he had essentially returned her confession of love.

Of course, he had done it in the most noncommittal way possible, pulling the Han Solo response in lieu of actual feeling. But he had still allowed her to say it, and his words were laced with the same sentiment.

Rejection would come soon, and his earlier words would drown like a cinder block as he found some creative way to dismiss them. For one moment he had seemed to have some real semblance of feeling and he wouldn't stand for it, no matter how genuine it may have been. She knew that and it hurt somewhere deep inside.

Minutes began to tick by, slow and cold on her skin despite the oppressive heat of the room. Harley waited and waited for him to say something, to do something, anything other than lay there listening to their frantic heartbeats.

And eventually he did. After some time he pushed her sticky skin away from his and moved both of them to the other end of the bed to collapse onto the pillows.

He pulled her close and spooned against her back, resting his chin on her shoulder. "If I know you – and I do – you're absolutely exhausted and ready to go to sleep."

Quirking an eyebrow, Harley shrugged and allowed herself to process the words before responding. "I'm not sure. You did say if I figured out your whole plan you would let me come as many times as I wanted. Is that offer still on the table?"

"Well, I've got some work to do." He sat up then, unhooked his belt from the headboard and slipped out of bed. "How about you get some rest and I'll go make some phone calls and then maaayyybeee I'll consider it?"

Lying back on the pillows, she stuck her tongue out at him in the most childish way she could manage. "Alright, but I'm going to hold you to it. As soon as you're done working, we're going to get to work breaking my personal record."

He snorted. "Personal record?"

With a matter of fact nod, she grinned up at him. "Four."

Raising his eyebrows as though impressed, he began gathering the rest of his clothes. "Do I get some sort of prize if I help you beat it?"

"I'm sure we can come up with something."

His shoulders shook with a quiet chuckle as he began to dress and pulled the phone from his pocket. She watched him lazily, eyes drifting shut despite her best efforts to stay alert. The whole night had been such a rollercoaster and its entire weight began to settle on her. Though she did not want to sleep, she had been awake for far too long and exhaustion was beginning to sink into her bones.

Come morning there would be time for a nice hot shower, some shared cups of coffee, and holding him to his word. Not necessarily in that order.

And in the meantime she could hear the sound of his voice, a little agitated, but low and even and hypnotizing. She could have listened to him talk forever. Closing her eyes, she let sound wash over her and sleep claimed her like a thief.


	14. Ace of Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harley is upset about being left behind.

“Ever since you’ve been my ace of hearts  
Hit me like a freight train in the dark  
Come on, baby, take me far away  
I wanna get so lost in the great escape  
We shouldn’t have to try, shouldn’t have to try so hard.”

~Zella Day “Ace of Hearts”

///

When Harley woke late that morning, J was still asleep. No surprise, really, considering he had roused her just an hour after their first tryst of the night to go at it again. He’d made her mind rip from her body four times before they’d both passed out in a tangle of limbs, too exhausted and sated to even speak afterward. Arm wrapped around her waist, he’d held her tight and she swore nothing had ever made her feel so secure.

And then the nightmares found her. 

Ripped away all of her comfort and happiness, replacing it with a hollow terror and the image of Victor Zsasz grinning as he cut her open. Harley woke screaming and J somehow managed to sleep through it. A cynical voice somewhere deep in her mind told her that he was probably accustomed to the sound of screaming, but she pushed it away almost immediately.

Taking his hand in hers, she rolled onto her side and wrapped his sleeping form around her like a blanket. He didn’t protest, didn’t even try to move away, just mumbled something unintelligible and pulled her close.

For a long time she lay there, soaking up his warmth and waiting for him to stir. It came later than expected, sleep nearly claiming her again, only to be torn away as he sat upright and stretched, bumping into her carelessly in the process.

And just like that he was awake, out of bed and on his feet, body sparking with energy. Harley found it ridiculous, her mind always taking far too long to reach wakefulness. As she fought for consciousness, he was already rambling at her, telling her of his grand plans for the day. It was lucky that she had figured most of them out last night or she would have been lost completely.

Closing her eyes, she buried her face in the pillows and tried to ignore the rhythm of his voice. He didn’t need her today, his plans were too complicated, too precarious to need her help. Maybe if she just pretended to not hear him he would let her sleep again.

By some miracle, she managed to drift in and out of consciousness for the better part of a half hour while still vaguely being aware of the shower running and J trying to carry on some sort of conversation while shaving. By the time he was finished, he had stopped talking and for one fleeting moment she thought he had given up and decided to let her rest.

She was not that lucky, of course, never was. The moment she began to drift off she felt his hands on her and he giggled as he shook her into wakefulness.

“Harrrleeey,” he drawled, hands roving across her shoulders as he shook her once more. “No sleeping, sugar. The sun’s already up, you should be too.”

Grumbling through the fog of sleep that clouded her mind, Harley shrugged off his hands. Slowly she managed to move to a sitting position and waited for him to be on her again. Never one to disappoint, he plopped on the bed beside her and dug his fingers into her sides. She groaned and writhed, convulsing with giggles as she tried to escape his hands.

“Don’t tickle me!” Futilely pushing at his hands, she tried to land a kick against his side and narrowly missed. “J! Seriously! It’s not…nice!”

Immediately he stopped, pulling that cynical face he always did when she said something stupid.

“It’s not…nice?” he repeated, lifting an eyebrow.

He let out a cackle that made her cringe a bit, still not quite awake enough for his shenanigans. This time when he dove in for the attack, she was ready for him. Immediately she dodged out of the way, but a hot pain in her side had her stopping with a sudden gasp.

It was so sudden, so blinding, that she nearly choked on her next breath. Something inside her was burning, white hot flowers blooming and wilting in time with each inhale.

Not sensing her pain, he once again dug his fingers into her hips, her sides, her stomach. It wasn’t until she actually cried out in protest and agony that he realized something was wrong. The pressure of his hands on her side made her vision blur slightly and she swore the steady ache would make her sick.

“Stop stop stop.” The breathless begging barely left her lips as she tried to move away.

Every movement made the world spin, her body suddenly so tense and ripe with pain that she had to lay back down before her center of gravity gave way completely.

“You can’t get out of playing that easily, sugar.” The threat was empty as he made no move to touch her again and she simply groaned in response.

It was hard to pinpoint exactly where the pain started. There was fire beneath her ribs, her sides, burning up her stomach and chest. The muscles protested with each gasp of air and she had to purposely slow her inhales to keep from crying.

“Harley?” That concern in his tone made her all too aware of how bad this must be, how vividly that pain must have shown. “Sugar, what’s wrong?”

She could hear the worry coating the words, the cadence a bit rushed as he tried to roll her over to face him. A frantic gasp stilled his hands, their warmth almost too much with the hot sickening pain lighting up her insides.

“Don’t.” It was more of a groan than a statement. “My side is on fucking fire. Feels like…” She gasped in a breath when an attempt at a deep inhale brought tears to her eyes. “My ribs are fucking breaking.”

Humming low in his throat, he pushed her over onto her stomach and carefully prodded at the muscles along her ribs and spine. He muttered something unintelligible as his fingers gently massaged the burning skin over her lower back.

“You managed to piss something off good in here.” Sucking on his scars, he continued to move about her skin, avoiding an area above her hips. “You know your ribs are still fucking purple back here.”

Attempting to look over her shoulder at him, she raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“I mean you’ve had this bruise since that son of a bitch the mobs sent attacked you.” He paused, making a noise low in his throat before carefully moving his palm across the large area he’d previously been avoiding. 

Immediately spots erupted across her vision and she hissed through her teeth. “That’s been bruised for a fucking week and you didn’t bother to tell me?”

She could feel his shrug. “It’s been more like two weeks. And, anyway, it was getting better. I think it had nearly cleared up before yesterday. We must have pissed it off with all that physical activity.”

Unable to help herself, she laughed at the suggestive little grunt he made at her. 

Laughter made her sides ache, but she couldn’t help herself. “So it’s all your fault, is that what you’re telling me?”

“Probably.” Again he massaged the bruise and the pain was slightly less unbearable. “Hate to say it, but Daddy was probably a little too rough with you, sugar.”

“Being football tackled by one of your idiots probably didn’t help much either.” It was hard to tease him when she could hardly breathe, but he chuckled nonetheless.

“Can’t catch a break, can you?”

When she winced at a particularly tender spot he hummed low in his throat and got to his feet. Moving hastily across the room, he picked up his coat and grabbed something from deep within the pocket. The orange prescription bottle landed on the bed with a rattle as he went to the bathroom and retrieved a cup of water from the sink.

“Those should help.” He nodded his green tinged curls toward the bottle. “I was giving ‘em to ya for a while there. Sort of forgot the last day or two. Sorry.”

Grimacing as she sat up, Harley allowed his words to sink in. Gingerly she picked up the pill bottle and read the label. “You’ve been giving me fucking oxycontin?”

Had she not been so surprised and slightly disgusted, she would have laughed. Somehow, without her knowledge, he had been giving her heavy painkillers. Really heavy painkillers. And she had been entirely blissfully unaware.

“Well, yeah, sweetheart, you’ve needed them. I’m surprised them stitches ain’t givin’ you more trouble, honestly.”

Blinking incredulously at him, she shook the pill bottle accusingly in his direction. “You mean to tell me you have been giving me these for…what? Two weeks now? And you didn’t bother to tell me?”

With a casual shrug, he turned away from her and began to put on his suit. “Well, no. Zak had you on morphine for about four days before you woke up.”

Frustrated and furious, she growled and threw the pills at the back of his head. “You didn’t think it was maybe pertinent information? That maybe you should have mentioned that you were slipping me this shit?”

The bottle hit him squarely in the back of the head and he grimaced at it as it clattered to the ground. Bending down to retrieve it, he pulled a face before tossing it back to her.

“Don’t throw a fit now, sugar.” Pulling on his shirt on, he stood straight and began to do up the buttons. “It just didn’t come up. It was a need to know basis and you didn’t need to know.”

Gritting her teeth, she fixed him with a glare and fought back the urge to throw the bottle at him again. “You’re such a bastard sometimes. What did you do? Just put drugs into my coffee? Did that not strike you as a little fucking…creepy?”

“Uhhhh nooo.” Pulling on his trousers, he began to tuck in his shirt as he made his way back toward the bed. Snatching the bottle away from her, he walked back across the room with the pills and it occurred to her he may not give them back. “I mean, if you don’t want them, I can just keep them for myself.”

Popping open the top, he dumped a few pills into his hand and lifted his palm to his mouth. She watched as he threw his head back and dry swallowed the little white tablets. Stomach turning, she kept her eyes on him, going over the problems with the entire situation repeatedly in her mind.

More questions than she could keep up with plagued her. Was J hiding some sort of addiction from her? How heavily had he been drugging her? Had her feelings from the entire past week been exaggerated by some cocktail of drugs pumping through her system without her knowledge? It would certainly explain how clouded her moral code had been.

Rage flared within her, her vision practically going red and she pushed herself from the bed and felt her body light up with a fresh wave of nausea. Biting back pain, she stormed over and ripped the bottle from his hand.

“How many of those fucking things did you take?” she demanded.

Giggling, he shrugged. “Enough. You think you’re the only one with aches and pains, sweetheart?”

“I think you shouldn’t treat this like a goddamn joke!”

He smirked. “Well, sugar, I am – “

It took all of her self-control not to slap him. “Don’t you fucking say it!”

Immediately his face fell, brow knitting as he stepped close to her and descended like a hawk. His fingers tangled in her hair as he brought his face close to hers and she let out a cry of frustration, balled fists slamming against his chest.

With soft, reassuring sounds he hushed her. Feigned gentleness pulled the bottle from her fingers and brought it up to eye level. He shook it as thought taunting her, his hand never leaving her hair as a grin took his face. Instinctively she reached for the bottle, her side screaming in pain from the angle she stood at. Giggling, he pulled it back and gave her an exaggerated frown.

“I thought you didn’t want me giving you drugs, sugar.” Again he rattled the bottle of pills and she growled in frustration and agony.

“I don’t like that you were sneaking them to me, I don’t like that you haven’t mentioned it until now.” Another swipe at the bottle earned her a sharp tug at her hair. She would have winced at it had the fire in her ribs not distracted her from feeling anything else. “I understand the necessity, I just really do not appreciate your approach. And then you shrug it away and taunt me with this as though it’s some kind of fucking candy rather than prescription painkillers…”

The pressure on her scalp built, his fist tightening in her hair until she was forced to arch her back to follow his hand. It hurt, it hurt so fucking bad that she couldn’t breathe - couldn’t cry out - could only whimper as she tried to pull away. Struggling only made it worse, but it felt her only option.

“You need to learn to watch your mouth.” His thumb and forefinger pressed too hard into her jaw as he turned her face to line up with his, the plastic cap of the bottle digging into her skin. 

Gritting her teeth, she reached out and slapped the bottle from his hand. It clattered to the bed and his grip on her hair tightened hard enough to make her cry out. If he kept pulling, she swore he would leave the back of her head bald. 

“J, you’re really hurting me.” Breathing through the pain was almost too much. Every inch of her cried out at the slightest twitch of muscle, the stabbing pressure in her sides and the tearing pain as a few strands of hair began to rip free of her scalp. 

Her eyes watered against her will as his fingers pressed hard against her jaw. There would be bruises left in their wake, if he gripped any harder she swore she would break. 

“Am I, sugar?” A sharp tug at her hair made her scream as her vision went white and spotted. It was too much, she couldn’t handle it...she was going to be sick. 

“Jesus Christ, J, STOP IT!”

There were blonde strands of hair tangled in his fingers as he finally released her. For a long moment he stared at them as though not recognizing where they’d come from, couldn’t process how they had nested there. Over the span of a few breaths, pain began to dull slightly and she stared at him in horrified disbelief. 

He’d hurt her. On purpose. Not badly - no, the real agony was still stemming from that angry spot in her ribs - but he had knowingly been cruel enough to make the pain worse. Had pulled her hair and gripped her hard until she begged him to let her go. And even then, there was still something in his eyes that made her almost certain he wasn’t done.

Her mouth trembled, brows knitting together as she shut her eyes tight in attempts not to cry. All shallow breath and shaking limbs, she took a step toward the bathroom. Immediately his arm scooped her back and pushed her squarely onto the bed.

Lashing out, she shoved his arms away aimed a blow for his face that missed entirely. 

“Do. Not.” That threat was all it took to have her swallowing all of her fight and collapsing in on herself. 

Not breaking eye contact with her, J bent forward and picked up the little orange bottle from the floor. Carefully he tucked it into her hand and forcibly wrapped her fingers around it. 

“Take two and don’t fucking say another word.” It was an order, not a request. One Harley knew better than to ignore, one she couldn’t ignore if she wanted to breathe properly again today. “I don’t have time to argue with you over asinine bullshit today.”

Shooting disgusted looks from J to the bottle in her palm, Harley leaned over to the bedside table and took the cup of water that had been procured for her. Feeling defeated and nearly blinded by pain, she popped open the bottle and chased two pills with water just as she had been told. Across the room, J made a sound of approval, but was too busy getting dressed to glance in her direction. 

She hated this, every bit of it, from the shooting pain to the self-loathing that coiled in her stomach. There was no telling how much of this was her fault. 

And there was so much of “this” to contend with.

Laying back on the bed, she tried to push all of the doubt and negativity from her mind, to focus on breathing evenly and hoping the pain would steadily begin to subside because it was certainly not being quick about it. 

For a long time the room was tense and silent, save for the ever present low rumble of J’s muttering. Every so often Harley would catch words and phrases that earned her attention, little details of the plan she had not put together or names she could almost place. Most of the time he just growled and she wondered what flurry of thoughts he was snarling away. If he cared that she felt on the brink of some existential crisis, if he heard the way her breath caught when she inhaled too deep.

When he eventually settled beside her on the bed, freshly painted face grim and twitching, she almost couldn’t bring herself to look at him. Even when he settled a hand on her stomach just below her ribs and cleared his throat in a way that wanted to be an apology. It was too much.

He was too much. A black hole ever-ready to consume. 

Slow, lazy circles were traced against her skin with precision and meaning and barely there touches that never came too close to the bruise that stood out starkly purple and yellow against an expanse of ivory. There was a touch of guilt in his eyes when they settled on it, which seemed ridiculous. He was incapable of remorse, wasn’t he?

“Harrrrleeyyy,” he said, and she could feel his tongue savor each syllable. 

It reminded her of when they met, of the first time she had given him her name. Of the way he had tested each sound to his liking and she swore that no man would ever say her name like that again. He made it sound important, revered. Like she was a Greek muse or a goddess on the edge of reaching divinity.

She hated how easy it was to dam the torrent of disgust she’d been feeling when he said her name like that. Her errant god suddenly forgiven of all sins.

“J?” The name was barely more than a croak, but he took her hand in his and she felt as though she had ascended.

Forgiveness shown in her eyes, her face, and he drank it up and grinned like the devil as he smoothed a hand over her hair. The memory of his fingers tugging strands away at the root seemed a distant memory as he pressed a kiss to her temple.She was floating. Light. His kisses would send her straight to an ethereal plane if he kept at this, all gentle brushes of skin and reverent hands like Catholic confession. 

Somewhere deep inside she knew the drugs had kicked in, that the pain was subsiding and each beat of her heart sent a fresh wave of relief to her nerves. That sweet relief coupled with his painted lips against the skin of her cheek, her lips, her throat...it was intoxicating. 

She chased it. 

Chased him. 

Gripped the lapels of his purple woolen overcoat and devoured him until her mouth ached even through the haze of painkillers. Hate and adoration entwined in a toxic fold that had her legs wrapping about his hips and her fingers ripping at his hair. 

She felt nothing and everything and was too consumed by his all-encompassing presence to feel the very real weight of guilt that threatened to pull her under the ocean and drown her. When the two of them were combined she was weightless and regret was a cinder block that threatened to pull her deep beyond retrieval and for the love of god she just wanted to feel nothing but the heat of his skin and his breath.

“Sugar…” Insistent finger pressed her shoulders against the cheap linen sheets. “I need you to promise me something, hm?”

She nodded and his leather gloves trailed down her arms. Paint trailed down her neck and she knew nothing else. Only this, only the two of them tangled together.

“Of course, puddin’. Anything.” Fingers pressed against his still-damp scalp and urged his face lower. Maybe if he never stopped touching her, she would feel anything else.

The frown he gave her as he pulled away implied that wasn’t his intention. “You’re not going to do anything today.”

“No.”

“Just rest.”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

And he kissed her again and she knew a blissful amount of nothing for a long time. The universe exploded before her eyes and blinded her to all that was not his touch.

“You know I’m just doing what’s best for you.” Hot breath washed over her like waves on sand and she made a sound that may have been agreement.

This time when he pulled back she was offered a full view of him, perfectly made up save a smear of pink from lips to chin. He was so handsome like this, a monster to all that could not see past his facade. In this state he belonged to no one but her and she found peace in that possession.

“I fucked up your war paint.” She smiled and tried to pull him back down for a kiss, ignoring the ache in her ribs at the exertion.

Resisting her touch, he pushed her squarely back into the sheets. “Harley...sugar...I need to hear you say it.” 

Harley frowned, twisting a green curl around her finger. “Say what?”

Pulling away from her with a laugh, he stood up from the bed and brushed off his suit.

It made Harley acutely aware that she was still naked, but she made no move to cover herself. This was how she always felt with him, all bare and exposed while he remained an enigma, layers upon layers that obscured her ability to see him fully. Those moments when she was allowed to remove the layers bit by bit were so few and far between and she craved them like water in the desert.

He made no attempt to mask the way his eyes traced her skin, the lick of his lips and low growl that had her smirking and laying back to give him a better view. 

“Don’t think that’s going to work this time, sugar.” But he winked at her all the same before growing suddenly serious. “Focus, c’mon. I need you to tell me you know I’m trying to do what’s best for you.” 

The face Harley made must have shown her hesitance because he flapped his arms impatiently in her direction before spreading them wide. An exaggerated frown pulled awkwardly at his scars and he hung his head like a martyr. Jesus on the cross, sacrificing himself for her sins past, present, and future. (Because he would certainly see to a few more of them before he bled out completely, wouldn’t he?)

His arms dropped with a snap and his head cocked at that robotic angle it took when she disappointed him. “What, sugar? Don’t think Daddy has your best interests at heart?”

Chewing on her lip, she sat up carefully and shrugged. “I know you do what you think is best…”

A sharp laugh cut her off. “What I think is best? Oooh, baby, that stingsss.” 

It became abundantly clear in that moment that she had little choice in agreeing, regardless of her actual conviction behind the reply. But, then again, she also knew that her words needed to convince him. That she could not get away with a casual shrug and a tease to his sensitive ego. 

No, if she was learning anything from her time with the Joker, it was that he liked to hear that he was right. And if someone failed to see his point, he would warp the world to prove his point. The key to playing his game was letting him believe he was right while casually stacking the cards back in her favor.

So that was exactly what she did.

The moment he swooped down like a falcon after a mouse, she grinned and rose to him. Batted her lashes and pouted when he snarled at her touch.

“Hey, don’t get mad! Of course I know, silly.” Her fingers laced around the back of his neck as she used him as an anchor to get to her knees. “That’s why I’m still alive, because you couldn’t let me die. You’re always looking out for me.”

The words made her teeth hurt, none of them were a lie but their artificial sweetness tasted wrong on her tongue. Still, she felt his attack poised muscles begin to uncoil and pushed on while she had the chance to gain to upper hand. 

“Hell, even before Zsasz...back when I was in the apartment....you gave me that money because you knew I was going to lose the place…” The distance of that memory caught her off guard. It had been not more than two weeks, maybe three now, but it felt like an eternity. A different life entirely. It made the words harder to fake, her apology ringing honest as she went on. “I appreciate everything you’ve done, everything you’re doing. I just wish you wouldn’t be so needlessly secretive. I know you’re too busy bringing chaos to the streets of Gotham to slow down to my speed, but just…try? Sometimes? Maybe?”

Though his body was still rigid, he smiled and she knew it was genuine. “Not a chance, sugar, you just gotta keep up.”

He winked and she could see the unspoken comment behind it. We both know you’re perfectly capable. Last night proved that.

Careful not to upset her bruise further, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his jaw, his ear. “You know I’m capable. Let me off the leash a little and I’ll prove it.”

It was barely more than a whisper, but he shivered so hard she could feel it ripple through the muscle beneath her palms. Smirking, she nipped at his earlobe before sinking back onto the bed. Black eyes followed her every movement as J stepped back and adjusted his tie.

“Not today, sugar.” He stood straight suddenly, his full height never failing to make her realize just how intimidating he could be. “Too much to do today and no suitable job for you. Unless you can drive a semi truck.”

Rolling her eyes, she shook her head and motioned him away with a dismissive wave. “Fine. Go. Don’t get yourself killed and bring me Chinese when you get back.”

His eyes begged the ceiling to grant him patience. “No promises on staying alive, but if I manage I’ll bring you Chinese.”

“And bring me out to play tomorrow?” That was pushing her luck and she knew it. She didn’t expect that flicker in his eyes or the way a smirk settled against his warpaint.

“Alright, if I survive the night I’ll take you out for a walk tomorrow.” A gloved hand mussed her hair and she stuck her tongue out at him like a child. Those black eyes swept the expanse of her skin and he gave a barely audible chuckle. “I’ll even let you off leash.”

A thrill shot through Harley so hot and electric that she could not suppress the little squeal of delight that jumped up her throat. “Really? You’ll let me come with you?”

He gave a noncommittal shrug, leaning a knee on the side of the bed as he came down to her level. This time when his fingers entangled in her hair and gave a tug it was simply to lead her, to bring her face inches from his so his lips could tease hers with the promise of contact. “As long as you play the game, sugar.” 

There was a suggestion behind the words that she didn’t comprehend, didn’t understand, didn’t care about. All that mattered was the promise of joining him, of tasting fresh air and power at his side. “Promise?”

His lips barely brushed hers. “As long as I get to give you a collar to clip your leash to when we’re done.” 

Giggling, she pushed playfully against his shoulders. “Don’t be an ass. And please....” Her eyes searched his until she found some shred of humanity. “Promise me. Promise I can come with you tomorrow.”

“Alright, fine.” He kissed her, his touch needy and desperate. “I promise.”

The absolute bliss Harley suddenly felt was all-encompassing and heady like a good high. For a long time she knew nothing, tasted nothing but his skin and grease paint and the prospect of freedom. She lost herself in it, allowed it to swallow her whole as she wondered just how she had managed to hate him for even a moment. 

Yes, he tried to be manipulative and spiteful. He tried to bend her to his will until she became a shape that her former self would not recognize. But try as he may to shape her in his image, she still managed to be a step ahead. For every bit that he tried to manipulate her, she still knew how to wrap him around her finger. 

And, truth be told, she really liked this new shape she was warping into, the one that matched him and molded to all of his crooked edges. She was becoming something new, yes, but it was something far greater than she had ever been before. Her scars matched his, their rough edges met in perfect unison, and together they became something all powerful and dangerous. 

The great, swirling black hole that was the Joker pulled her in once more and she gave in willingly, knowing she could manipulate his gravity as she pleased.


	15. The Dusk In Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harley makes a friend.

“Ghosts are merely shadows, you are flesh and bone  
The grudge does not have regrets when there is no past to forget  
Our denial it speaks in tongues, there’s monsters among us.”

~Converge “The Dusk In Us”

///

If asked Zacharias Budday could pinpoint the exact moment his life went off the rails. 

He was in a bar, much like the one he was in now, with smoke fogging the air and cheap whiskey on his tongue. There was a man at the table across from him, grinning and laughing and pushing short blonde hair back from his forehead with a twitch.

_“You know,” Jack said conversationally, as though he weren't five shots in and teetering on his stool. “I think we are going to be together forever. You and me, man. Napier and Budday, stuck together for eternity.”_

Zak didn't see it as a life sentence at the time. No, he’d laughed and swirled the amber liquid in his glass before draining it with a sigh and a flourish. They were shipping out for Russia the next day, for the mission that would change everything. The one that would toss their entire lives into hot fiery chaos, from which they would both emerge warped and scarred, but would never truly escape.

_“Forever?” He snorted, eyeing his best friend over the rim of his empty glass. “Jack, you’re talkin’ like we’re going to live out the year.”_

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_Jack laughed, a sound that came from somewhere deep within him and shook his whole body. For a fraction of a second he nearly lost his balance and had to use the table to brace him in his seat._

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_“You’re such a fuckin’ pessimist, you piece of shit.” There was laughter saturating every word, Jack’s face a mess of dimples and alcohol. “You’re really fuckin’.... Shit, man, I was trying to give you a compliment.”_

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_Zacharias (because he had still gone by that name back then) grinned wide and motioned at the bartender for another round. “Being stuck with you for eternity is a compliment?”_

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_A French fry hit Zacharias in the nose and Jack giggled against a guilty hand. “Stop being a fucker and take me seriously for a second, okay?”_

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_Another drink slid toward his outstretched hand and Zacharias caught it with a deft flick of his wrist. For a long moment he sat there, not quite able to look Jack in the eye._

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_Eventually he nodded. “You have one second.”_

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_Jack balked at him, but wasted no time in surging ahead. “You’re my brother. My absolute asshole of a brother. And I want you to know that no matter what happens when they throw us straight into hell tomorrow, I won’t fucking leave you. I’m with you no matter what.”_

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_For a moment he was absolutely filled to the brim with sentiment, too struck by the words to respond. Neither of them had ever been particularly good at expressing the weight of their friendship, the loyalty that ran thicker than blood between them. Jack especially was not one to throw around such bold claims of affection. For a long time Zacharias had thought him completely incapable of any emotion that wasn’t anger or manic glee._

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_Flipping the words over and back in his head, he stared at the leftover food on their plates and considered whether or not he felt capable of responding. Returning the feeling felt like too much. Were he to dig deep and carve up the words to say something in kind it would leave them both awkward and floundering. But, in the same breath, snubbing the comment felt too heartless._

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_So instead he drained his glass, picked up a cold french fry and shook it in Jack’s direction. “Til the end of the line, yeah?”_

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_Jack said nothing for a long time, stared him dead in the eye in quiet contemplation. And then he chuckled, broke out in a shit eating grin as he threw his head back and cackled. “Alright there, Steve Rogers, don’t get all soft on me.”_

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_And Zacharias laughed too, because he lacked a better way to respond to the overwhelming fondness he felt in that moment._

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_“Fucking nerd,” he accused, but there was still too much tenderness behind it for his liking so he laughed harder._

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_Jack always knew how to get the best of him._

Even now, years later with time and tragedy trenching deep between them, Zak felt some deep sense of unwavering loyalty. The bonds of brotherhood could not be broken by any amount of weight, not after what they had been through together. What they continued to fight for together. Freedom and justice had taken on new meaning over the years, but that never deterred them from the ultimate goal.

And, really, that was how he knew he was fucked. 

Because they weren’t evil, not really, not like the media wanted to paint them to be. They did bad things, yes, but that had always been the case. Back in their special ops days they had raided villages, murdered civilians in the name of freedom. Somehow, doing the same on the streets of Gotham had landed them with them at the top of Gotham’s most wanted list.

They were criminals now, a far cry from the soldiers of fortune they had once believed themselves to me. A few nights back the news had referred to the Joker as a terrorist and Zak had involuntarily winced at the implications. Though the fight never changed, finding themselves on the wrong side of the law never stopped feeling a little uncomfortable at times. A little too heavy for Zak’s liking. 

You either die a hero, or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain. 

He couldn’t remember who had told him that, if he’d ever actually heard it at all or if the phrase had been dropped into his mind like a bad idea. It fit circumstance regardless. Every villain was the hero of their own story, after all. And if he had to take up the moniker of villain to make his city see that true freedom was found without corrupt politicians and crooked law enforcement ruling over them, he would wear the title with pride.

They would never know he was the one freeing them, of course. No, he was too much of a chicken shit coward for that, and he accepted it. Jack had always been the charmer, the “party face” as their old squadmate Hansh had referred to him. Always the first man in the bar to order a drink for the group, and the one that would loudly announce that they were “so fucking relieved to be stateside and off duty, holy shit” in the hopes of it earning them a round on the dime of respect and patriotism.

“Hey, buddy, you need another?” asked the bartender, tipping a bottle of Irish whiskey in Zak’s direction. 

It took a moment for the words to register, for Zak to look up at the man and weigh the options presented to him. Did he want another? Fuck yeah. He wanted about ten more, truth be told. And then he wanted an escape. He wanted to drink enough to push this entire shitty ass day that lay ahead of him so thoroughly from his mind that he could drop all responsibility entirely.

The bathroom door swung open and an older man with white hair shaved down nearly to the scalp emerged. He grinned wide, motioning at the bartender for another drink as he sidled up a few seats away from Zak.

“Day off?” the bartender asked, turning his full attention on the older man.

“Not on duty yet.” An agitated hand ran across the man’s short hair. “Still got a few hours before shit goes south.”

“Long night ahead of you?” the bartender seemed more interested in gossip than genuinely concerned, but he faked the emotion well enough.

The man shrugged, glancing up at the dust covered television screen with a grimace. Gotham City News was still covering the press conference from that morning with reports and speculations about Harvey Dent’s “shocking” confession to being the Batman.

“After that show this morning?” the older man grunted. “No shit.”

“You think that Joker guy is gonna try something with Harvey Dent?” 

Zak felt his insides go cold, his stomach churning in anxious chaos at the knowledge he possessed. At the fate that awaited the city. If only they knew, if only any of them fucking knew what lay ahead. 

He must have started frowning outwardly because the older man cleared his throat. The change that overtook Zak was almost immediate, a knee jerk reaction to nearly being found out. A smirk took his face, something subtle and light and carefully holding a sardonic chuckle. 

“Is there any doubt?” The words slurred together just right, just enough to give the impression that he was drunk enough to discuss politics with strangers. “That son of a bitch is an egomaniac, desperate for a little bit of fame. Fucker. It’s fucking pathetic, isn’t it? The lengths some of these bastards go to for a shot at the spotlight.”

The older man frowned, motioning for another drink from the bartender. 

“I just hope Harvey Dent makes it out alright,” the older man said.

“What, Wertz, you don’t think he’s the real thing?” Filling a pint glass nearly to the brim, the bartender set the drink in front of the man.

“Thirty years on this force and I’ve never met a man less likely to be a fucking vigilante.”

Zak felt his ear perk up, drowning the smirk that threatened his lips in the last of his bourbon. 

In one swift motion he rose from the bar, making certain to seem ever so unsteady on his feet. Like his balance was tilted slightly to the right. With a careful hand, he pushed a twenty across the bar.

“Put Officer, uh...Wertz was it?” The older man nodded and Zak returned the gesture. “Put Officer Wertz’s drink on my bill, yeah? This should cover it.”

Deliberate steps took him past the older man, whom he clapped on the shoulder with a friendly hand. The older man’s calloused hand patted his appreciatively.

“Thanks, kid.”

It was less than genuine. More for the sake of the bartender than Zak. Keeping up appearances and all that. The lack of gratitude excused Zak of all guilt he may have felt as he transferred a scribbled on napkin from his hand to the officer’s.

“Stay safe out there, yeah buddy?” With a nod of his head, Zak smirked and headed toward the door, knowing that Harvey Dent’s final location for the night had made it into the right hands.

\---

For the first time in weeks Harley was alone. Truly alone. There were no goons lurking in an unfamiliar warehouse, no one around to keep an eye on her and report her every wrongdoing back to the Joker, and certainly no J to steal every ounce of her attention. No, there was just her, her books, and her hotel room. 

There was also enough anxiety churning her guts to leave her sick in the bathroom a few times over the course of the past few hours. 

She was so fucking nervous. J had only been gone four hours and already she was certain she’d not sleep that night. He had taken the car, left her a small stack of money, and instructed her to not leave the room unless she absolutely had to. 

The first couple hours had been fantastic. There was a lovely sketch of J in her notebook now, she had read three chapters of a book she was particularly excited about, and she had ordered a shitty pizza from the only place around the delivered. Pizza had shown up somewhere around dusk and she had managed to choke down three slices of the greasy mess before reports of the Joker chasing the police convoy had started to bombard the news and anxiety left her sick in the bathroom. 

Despite knowing the ins and outs of this plan, she still couldn't bring herself to like it, to not worry herself into a cold cruel world where J never came home. Where her last real interaction with him had been the two of them fighting about him sneaking her painkillers. She still didn't like that, not at all, but she didn't want the last thing she ever said to him to be “Try not to die, we need to have a serious talk about boundaries when you get back.”

Sure, they had spent the morning making out on the hotel bed and he’d buried his face between her thighs like an apology for whatever he was about to do. And, sure, he had promised to bring her with him and let her help him with whatever bullshit he had up his sleeve. But if he never came back she would be left feeling all sorts of unresolved anger.

Pushing away from that thought with all her might, she crawled over to the bathtub and turned on the water. The pipes weren't as loud as the ones in the warehouse, but the steady thunder of water from the faucet was enough to drown out some of her thoughts. 

She spent some time soaking in the tub, focused on the prospect of tomorrow, of her next adventure into the chaotic world J occupied. Her thoughts never once went back to the semi truck, to the police chase, she wouldn't let them. She didn't know that the Batman had shown up to the party, that the older man J had promised her would be driving the truck (“Of course I won't be driving, sugar, I can't drive one of those!”) had been killed and J had taken over his seat, that he's drug Zak along with him to sit shotgun, that there were cords currently being wrapped around the truck’s axles just when the two men driving thought they were safe. 

She didn't know…

\---

“He missed!” The words left Zak’s lips so quickly, a hot mix of relief and pure disbelief forcing his heart against his ribs.

Elated and surprised, he glanced over at J.

And then the truck lurched and time seemed to slow around him as the vehicle groaned. He could see his surprise reflected in J’s face, something just on the other side of horror was exchanged between them as the truck began to flip. Bile rose in Zak’s throat and he swore me would be sick as the entire world shifted.

It all went impossibly slow, the truck flipping end over end as the street rushed toward the windshield.

“Oh, Jesus fucking –“

An ear shattering crack rang out with broken glass and mind numbing pain as the space he occupied suddenly became significantly smaller. Zak’s knees hit the dash, his forehead cracking against the breaking windshield and the seat behind him in rapid succession. Spots flared in his vision, everything blurring and blowing out too fast. He was getting smaller, his body crushed and crumpled like an old receipt. Everything was spinning, he was losing grip on his place in the universe, and his mind seemed to settle somewhere far from where he had begun this journey.

He could almost smell the desert, taste the air that claimed every bit of water from his breath. There was something acrid filling his mouth and burning his gums. He spit vomit and blood with a curse, his hand reaching across the seat for the blonde man he knew to be there. Heart pounding, he barely held back a sob. From somewhere far away and directly inside him all at once, he could hear “Fortunate Son” by Creedence Clearwater Revival playing. Jack’s favorite song. 

And suddenly he knew where he was, knew exactly what was about to happen. Panic shook his limbs, he mind struggling to assess the situation because Jesus fucking Christ he knew they were doomed.

There would be Russians soon, large men speaking in a language he could not quite decipher and threatening to cut off his fingers if he didn’t give them what they wanted. But they would never actually question him. They would take Jack and break him and cut him and those screams would haunt him for years while he slept.

They had to escape, had to run. Maybe if they ran it would be different this time. Maybe –

“Well, Zaky-boy, we really need to stop doing shit like this.” It was Jack’s voice and yet…it wasn’t. It was low and drawling and saturated with the wrong kind of laughter. A hand on his arm patted him a few times before his eyes snapped open. There was a painted face smiling at him, black eyes glimmering with what he swore had to be concern. “The old familiar places…”

The Joker grinned, but didn’t quite manage the laugh Zak could see attempting to escape his lips. Zak’s chest ached as he tried to draw breath, but he smiled regardless. Pieces fell back into their rightful place, the spinning in Zak’s mind slowing. Still unable to make his mouth form words, he gave a single nod to assure his friend he was okay.

Still smiling too widely for his face, J returned the gesture before opening the door and rolling out of the cabin with a machine gun in tow. 

\---

“JOKER ARRESTED AFTER HIGH SPEED CHASE WITH GOTHAM POLICE”

The headline was the first thing that greeted Harley as she emerged from the bathroom. It had been expected, but she still found herself frowning at the image of her lover being escorted into the Gotham City Precinct. There was fear there, some deep seeded doubt that he wouldn’t return and she would…. She would what? Be stuck in this hotel room for the rest of her life. 

Somehow that line of thinking sat even less well with her. Not because she feared he would never return, but because she was so prepared to stay in one place like she was his prisoner. Like she had no control over her life and had to be content to let him do as he pleased while she waited in the shadows. He may have agreed to take her out with him tomorrow, to play first hand witness to whatever chaos he concocted, but she would still be an afterthought. Whatever hand she had in his plan would be merely a footnote in his grand masterpiece.

She hated being an afterthought. Hated it with every ounce of her being. After spending years allowing others to put their needs, their plans, their lives before hers she was ready to put herself first. To take a step in the direction of deciding her own fate.

Before J came along she had been doing pretty well. Sure things were….well, they were pretty shitty financially, but for once she had been entirely in charge of her own fate. There was no blind devotion to some man clouding her vision of the future, no scholarships or coaches or parents telling her who to be and what to throw all of her focus at. She was finally just an artist with some simple plans for the future. Even if those plans were simply to get out of debt and sell some art. They weren’t groundbreaking plans, but they were hers and they had been important.

And yet, somehow she had allowed herself to wind up here. 

That lit something angry in her, something determined to prove she was better than circumstance. Just like when she had been at the warehouse, she would break his rules and prove that she was still capable of doing great things on her own. 

She flipped her hair and towel dried it in a fury, positively fuming as she pulled her hair too hard and tossed the towel back onto the bed. Storming over to her suitcase, she struggled into a pair of black jeans and a red and black plaid shirt. She was not trapped here, she could leave the room if she damn well pleased. This was merely a setback. Bad circumstances.

You are not defined by your circumstances.

Harley crossed the room in a huff, stomping into the bathroom and catching sight of herself in the mirror. She looked a mess. All wild damp hair and tired eyes. There were bruises on her jaw soft as kisses and shaped exactly like J’s fingers. Frowning, she stepped closer to the mirror. Her fingers traced those little shadows of fingerprints, the places he had marked her with overeager hands on porcelain skin.

Those wouldn’t do. She couldn’t leave the room with those. She’d need to fetch the cover up that Zak had bought for her during their shopping spree and pray it matched her skin. The last thing she needed was to leave the hotel room and run into someone that would see those and think she was in some sort of abusive situation.

Not that the bruises would mean anything compared to the gashes that carved the sides of her mouth.

She realized almost at a distance that she had stopped seeing them when she looked in the mirror. Felt them, certainly, but didn’t see them. They were just another part of her face now. A collection of stitches to mark her brush with death, to prove she had escaped no matter how narrowly. 

And yet, no matter how used to them she was becoming, they made her stand out like a sore thumb. They were an invitation to stare and whisper about the freak. The poor girl, the one who had been touched by a monster.

Pity they would have their monsters confused.

Because, regardless of how this whole ridiculous mission of J’s turned out, she would be stuck with those scars forever. Whether she went back to some semblance of life as she had known it, or stuck by his side until they were both killed in some fiery tragedy, people would always think he had done it to her.

The poor stupid girl that stuck by him out of fear and manipulation. The poor girl who wanted to copy him. The poor girl that fell in too deep with the most dangerous criminal in Gotham and wore the scars to prove it. What an idiot. What a slut. Stupid whore probably let him do it to earn respect. Stupid fucking…

Harley screamed. 

The mirror in front of her shook as her fist connected with the glass in a show of rage. Her knuckles throbbed, but the glass did not shatter. Though she wasn’t certain she had wanted it to, there was a defeat in her bones as it remained intact.

“Fuck.”

Pain shown raw in the eyes of her reflection and she wondered if she always looked so tired and sad, or if the past day had just been too much for her. She hardly recognized the woman staring back from the mirror. Even her worst weeks at the café had never left her looking this haggard. All of the rage inside of her cracked and heaved, giving way to a wave of crushing sadness.

She missed freedom. Missed her apartment and having her own space and her art. She missed a life that felt like her own, even if it had been terribly lonely. Lonely was better than this. Whatever this was.

“Fuck.”

Her hands fell heavily to the vanity and she leaned against the sink with a long sigh. It was unclear how long she stood there, staring into the rusting drain. She stared until her body felt fuzzy, until everything around her felt fake, until she was stiff in her joints and numb in her heart.

“You need to move,” she told herself. “You need to go back to bed if you’re going to be like this.”

Still her body stayed in place. It took concerted effort to tear her eyes from the drain, like she was reclaiming her soul from a black hole that had been slowly sucking her in. Her eyes passed over the water stained faucet, across the faux-marble pattern of the vanity, settling on three tins stacked neatly in the corner.

Greasepaint.

Brow furrowed, she reached out and picked up the first tin. It felt wrong somehow, forbidden. As though she was breaking into something so sacred and personal to J that not even she should be allowed to see it. To touch it. The elixir for that carefully crafted mask he put on for the world was seated on the palm of her hand. It was like holding raw power, some sort of dangerous magic or weapon of mass destruction.

And yet, when she uncapped the tin, she found only red.

There were indents and crooked lines from the pads of J’s fingers. Carefully she pressed her finger to the cool substance, getting just a bit on her fingertip. She smeared rouge across her lips, watching the color take life there. Her scars she left alone, not daring to risk infection by covering them.

She and her reflection shook their heads. This shade of red was not her color. Putting the lid back on the tin, she placed it back on the vanity and reached for the next, curiosity getting the best of her. 

The next was black, an abyss in which she buried the red on her fingers lips. It was more fitting, somehow, her mouth having always been her most venomous and dangerous part. Again she avoided the scars, opting to paint around her eyes instead. Diamond shaped smears of black smudged around her bright blue eyes, as clownish as they were sad. 

What remained of the black was wiped onto her jeans before she returned the cap to the tin and turned her attention to the last container. She wasn’t sure she needed it, pale as she was, but the longer she stared at her reflection the more she felt she looked like a character from The Crow without it and eventually shrugged and picked it up.

This color was far more used than the others. What little white remained had not been meant for her and she knew it. Still she dipped in two fingers, avoiding the one that was still stained black, and covered the bruises on her jaw in stark white. The paint erased them effortlessly, just as it covered the hickies on her neck when she smeared it just a bit too far down. 

Doing her best to conserve what was left of the chalky white paint, she did the rest of her face with a quick smear that let a good bit of her peachy skin show through. Still, it was a stark difference. She looked… dangerous and a bit foolish. 

She looked like the Joker. 

Or, at least, she looked like she was stealing his make up. This didn’t feel like her, she didn’t recognize her reflection.

She and the mirror squared off as she debated washing off the greasepaint. Uneasy eyes watched her face transform and morph as she went through odd expressions to see how they looked with the paint. It was never very menacing, as far as she was concerned. Just silly and playful, like a child that had gotten into their parent’s makeup. And just like that child she would absolutely get in trouble for this. 

She may look like the Joker, but getting into his war paint was absolutely an act of defiance. If he came back to find her like this, he would be so angry. Already she could hear his condescension, the way he would sing-song her name and laugh at what she had done without a hint of humor. 

Shrugging, she flipped off her reflection as though J would somehow sense the ire she was sending his way and left the bathroom. She didn’t like it, but she would keep it out of spite.

Unsure what to do with herself, she went back and laid out on the bed, staring up at the stucco ceiling. It took exactly five minutes of laying in bed with that paint sitting uncomfortably in her pores for her to decide she really did hate it and wash it off. 

Black and white paint stained two washcloths and the edges of the sink before she felt her face was properly clean enough. The lacerations in her face ached from being scrubbed around, even after she applied antibiotic ointment to them. Red, irritated swelling lit up her face and accentuated those scars even more.

At least she looked like herself again. At least she felt like herself. 

Rolling her eyes at the paint stained sink, she ambled back to the main room and picked up the pack of cigarettes and lighter she had begged and pleaded Zak for. She lit it before she was even out the door, stuffing the room key and a few small bills into her pocket as she went. 

There was no one in sight as she stuck her head out the door and headed down the corridor toward the bright florescent light that flickered above an alcove that she was certain held the vending machines. Even so she hung her head, hair falling in her face to cover the stitches she feared any passerby may see. It made her thankful that J had found her a hotel in the middle of nowhere. The last thing she needed on top of all the other shit going on was to have someone see her, to have someone recognize her. 

She imagined that for a moment, having someone see her and call the cops because they recognized her from some missing person poster. To be drug away from everything that had become her reality over the past few weeks. It made her realize quite suddenly that the idea of returning to life as it had been before was somehow worse than putting up with J and his bullshit.

That left her in a strange limbo. Part of her panicked at the thought of no longer having him in her life, and yet she longed for normalcy. There was no such thing, not with him. Hard as she tried to tell herself things could go back to the way they were before she was attacked, she knew damn well it was a lie.

Crushing the filter of her cigarette underfoot as she neared the vending machine, she exhaled a smoke-lined curse at the entire predicament. 

Staring dispassionately into the dirty glass of the vending machine, Harley picked out as many snacks as she could buy with the few dollars she had brought and grabbed a soda for good measure. Absolutely none of the chips or cookies she had purchased were anywhere near healthy and she feared her guts would betray her if she kept this current diet, but couldn’t be bothered to care. It was 3 in the morning and she was wide awake and bored. Exhaustion would kill her before the shitty food had a chance.

Arms full of snacks and an unlit cigarette between her lips, Harley turned back and headed toward her room. Even the small bit of fresh air had been enough to ignite some life within her. She felt better, excited, free. She had made a decision for herself and went through with it, even if it was a small act of rebellion. It was like reclaiming a small piece of herself.

A glass of wine would have gone well with this night. Wine and chips and maybe some chocolate. Full out bad decisions seemed to be the current theme of her existence and a drink would have taken the edge off brilliantly. The temptation to search the phonebook for a nearby liquor store crossed her mind, but that was probably too risky even for her current mood.

“Hey.”

The small voice pulled her from her thoughts, stopping her dead in her tracks as she glanced down to the source. A small, dark haired boy was standing in the doorway of the room she was passing. Bloodshot brown eyes stared up at her, going suddenly wide at the sight of her face.

For just a moment he hesitated before his small hand reached toward her, tiny fingers gripping the sleeve of her coat.

“Hey,” he said again, a little more forcefully this time. “Can you, umm… can you help me?”

He twisted in place, still holding tight to her sleeve. As he spoke, he did not meet her eyes, couldn’t seem to bring himself to. Confusion gave way to empathy, her heart melting as he tugged insistently at her sleeve.

The boy sniffled, wiping tears and snot on the sleeve of his pajamas. He couldn’t have been more than eight, maybe younger, and definitely small for his age. Those big eyes of his looked over her face, obviously staring at her stitches, but not daring to comment. Feeling her ability to walk away shatter completely, Harley hunched down to the boy’s level.

“What’s wrong, pumpkin?” Offering him a kind smile, she tried to peer past him into the room. It was too dark to see much of anything, but she swore there was a person asleep on the bed.

Again the boy twisted in place, his eyes fixing on the concrete beneath his bare feet.

“My dad won’t wake up.” The words were barely more than a whisper, but Harley felt her stomach jolt and turn.

“How long has he been asleep, sweetheart?” Try as she might, she couldn’t keep the shaking from her voice.

“Since…” The boy’s brow furrowed in thought. “Since this morning, I think. I…I tried to call nine-one-one, but they won’t answer.”

Harley was afraid she’d be sick. This little boy had been all alone in this room with his parent and no one had answered his calls for help. There was a deep twisted part of her that was afraid she knew why. 

Eyes still fixed on the sidewalk, he stopped moving long enough to tug on her sleeve. “Will you help me?”

Something about that didn’t sit right with Harley. Maybe it was the idea of J getting angry with her for calling the cops, the horrible prospect of waiting with this child and being found. Much as she wanted to make sure he was okay, that someone would come and rescue him, she wasn’t sure she could risk her reality by waiting with him.

“Help you call the cops?” she asked, teeth digging into her bottom lip.

“Yeah…” As though sensing her hesitance, he tugged on her sleeve and took a step back toward the room. “Come on, please.”

Something about this didn’t sit quite right with Harley. Not only was the idea of calling the cops practically off limits, the fact a child she did not know was trying to pull her into a hotel room with the body of an adult man on the bed made her skin crawl.

Rising to her feet, she took a few careful steps toward the room. The child pushed the door open a bit further and she was given a better look at the bed. There was definitely a man on it, and that man was definitely grey. Though she couldn’t see clearly, there appeared to be a tourniquet around his arm and she was certain there would be a needle around somewhere if she looked hard enough.

Taking a long breath, she set her snacks on the ground and nodded before taking another step toward the room. This was stupid and she knew it. If she was cold enough to look at a dead body without cringing, she should have been able to lead the kid to his own devices. She should just dial the phone for him and run.

But she couldn’t. J would have called her soft for this, would have teased her for not hesitating for even a second before following the little boy into the room.

The whole room reeked like human waste and death. Reaching out for the light switch, she flipped on the light and immediately her suspicions were confirmed. The man may have only been dead a day, if that, but the body had clearly already started to bloat and decay. Covering her mouth with her free hand, Harley shook her head and took a step back. If she stayed in that room she’d be sick. Sicker than she had been after she crushed the fake Batman’s head with a sledge hammer.

Her stomach gave a lurch and for a moment she legitimately thought she would puke. Suddenly the fingers on her sleeve disappeared as the boy sprinted back toward the bed. The breath she tried to take tasted like literal shit and she bolted from the room in a rush.

And then there was a sob from inside, raw and broken. She looked back to see the boy standing beside the corpse of the man she assumed was his father and holding the body’s grey sausage hand. Guilt overwhelmed her so fast that she ran back without getting a proper breath of fresh air.

Each broken sob the boy let out was punctuated by a plea for his daddy to wake up. Harley had never been so horrified by a scene in her entire life. All of her will broke and crumbled and she felt tears sting her eyes as she gripped the boy by the shoulder. When she tried to pull him back, he cried louder and she hushed him with quiet reassurances.

“We’re going to call someone,” she told the boy. “Come with me and we’ll call someone, okay?”

The boy nodded, trying hard to calm his breathing. “Okay. Yeah. Okay.” 

Leading him by the hand out of the room, she took note of the room number and the sign by the road that called the motel the Wayside Inn. Fitting name, really. She would have really enjoyed that irony if not for the current circumstance.

“Are you hungry?” she asked, pausing to grab her snacks from beside the door.

The boy sniffed and nodded.

“We can have some crackers and chips when we get back to my room, okay?”

Again he nodded, still not daring to speak. The sight of his father in the light must have been more than he could bear. She couldn’t blame him. Her heart bled for him with each step they took down the corridor toward her room.

At the door to her room she paused and unlocked it, hesitating for just a moment before inviting the boy inside. She offered him a seat on the desk chair and gave him a pack of crackers and cheese.

Patting his head, she smiled as comfortingly as she could. “I’m gonna call someone to come help you and your daddy. You eat those crackers, okay?”

“Okay,” he murmured, fixing his eyes on the floor.

“Good boy.”

She crossed the room and picked up the phone, dialing 9-1-1 and listening to the line ring. And ring it did, far longer than she had ever heard it ring before. Certainly longer than a 9-1-1 call should have rang. Frowning, she hung up the phone and tried again.

Someone answered this time, but there was babble in the background. She could hear yelling and chaos, codes she didn’t understand. “9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

Letting out a sigh of relief, Harley replied as smoothly as possible despite the unease in her bones. “I’m at Wayside Inn off exit 98 and I think the man in room 108 is dead.”

The dispatcher legitimately sounded annoyed with her. “I’ll send an ambulance as soon as I can, ma’am. We’re a little tight on staff at the moment.”

Harley felt herself bristle. “Yes, yes, I’ve seen the news, but this is urgent. There’s a kid…”

For a long moment there was silence on the other line, broken by shouts that Harley swore pertained to the Joker. Someone said something about the precinct, about an explosion. Frowning, Harley sank onto the unmade bed.

“Please,” Harley said, trying to sound patient. “The guy had a kid and I think the kid has been in the room with him for a while. I’m worried that…”

“Like I said, ma’am, we will send an ambulance as soon as possible. We’re a bit short staffed and….”

“And this is an emergency!”

“Not as much of an emergency as the District Attorney and the explosions over on…”

There were a series of yells in the background, an insistent voice telling someone that they had lost the precinct. Harley felt her chest tighten, fearing that something had happened to J. But, no, that would be ridiculous. J was the problem.

“An ambulance will be on its way shortly, ma’am, please remain calm until first responders arrive.”

The line went dead and Harley felt a mix of disgust and panic as she stared for a long moment at the receiver. 

She was having trouble processing what had just transpired. Clearly J’s plan had come to terrible fruition. Rachel Dawes was probably dead, Harvey Dent was missing, and the precinct had just been blown up from what she could hear. Frowning down at her feet, she rubbed the balls of her feet against the carpet and sighed. 

“Someone’s on their way, buddy,” she said. It didn’t seem like a lie. The dispatcher had promised someone would be on their way soon. She had to believe them for the sake of her sanity. 

The boy said nothing, just nodded and took a bite of cracker.

Silence spread between them, tense and awkward. Harley had no idea what to do with a child, she had never babysat or had younger siblings. Her sister was nearly ten years her senior, and Harley was the youngest cousin in her family by a few years. 

Eventually, after she watched five minutes tick by on the alarm clock by the bed, she looked over at the child and noticed his pack of crackers was gone. 

“Do you want chips?” she asked because she didn’t know what else to do.

“Yeah.” 

“Do you want to go sit outside and wait for help to come?” 

The boy hesitated. “Yeah.”

Attempting to summon some relatability and sweetness, Harley got to her feet and held out her hand for the boy. For a moment he stared at her hand. 

His hand fit neatly into hers as he stood. “What happened to your face?” 

The question was so innocent and Harley had been expecting it. A few different answers crossed her mind, all of them lies. 

“A very bad man tried to hurt someone I care about by hurting me,” she said gently. Not a lie, but simpler than the truth.

“Was it that man from TV? The Joker? Did he hurt you too?” 

That question was more of a surprise. Harley felt the smile fall from her face as he asked it. “No, it wasn’t the Joker.”

“Oh.” The boy took the bag of chips she offered and followed her out the door, still holding her hand. “That would have been pretty cool.”

Of all the things to surprise her tonight, this was probably the most striking. 

“It would have been cool?” she repeated, unable to hold back her laughter. 

“Yeah!” For the first time, the boy smiled. “You know, if you’d like….escaped from him or something. You’d be able to tell that story to everybody and they would think it was so cool.”

Harley’s laughter echoed off the overhang as they stepped into the night. She sat on the curb, trying to stifle her giggles as the boy sat beside her. Opening the bag of chips for him, she took one and handed the bag over to him.

“Do you think I should start telling people the Joker did it?” She grinned wide and enjoyed the way he nodded enthusiastically.

Taking a handful of chips, he ate them greedily and spit crumbs as he talked with his mouth full. “Well, duh! You could tell them that he was gonna kidnap you and you narrowly escaped his clutches!” 

That spark in his eyes had Harley nearly doubled over with laughter as she listened to him. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she promised and took another chip from the bag. 

The silence that followed was content, the two of them sharing a late night snack as they waited for his world to be shattered. 

“What’s your name?” she asked, leaning her elbows on her knees and looking over at him.

Swallowing his mouthful of chips, he mimicked her pose. “Jason. Jason Todd. What’s yours?”

“I’m Harley. It’s nice to meet you Jason.”

Sirens and flashing lights appeared on the exit. Harley watched them head toward the hotel parking lot and slowly got to her feet. Those were cop cars, not an ambulance. Squinting to see them more clearly, she felt a surge of panic as she saw a body leaning out of the driver’s side window. That was absolutely not a cop. 

“Jason, I need you to go back to your room, okay?”

The boy looked up at her, clearly puzzled. “Why?”

“You need to be with your daddy when help arrives, okay?” Already she was backing toward the door to her room, her hand reaching back for the handle. “Go! Go go go!”

“But Harley…”

“Jason, I said go!” Pushing the door open behind her, she watched the police car pull into the lot. 

Clearly confused, the boy got to his feet, but did not argue. He ran back to his room with a fleeting glance back at her and all Harley could do was pray that he made it back to his room as she slipped inside hers and shut the door.

Heart pounding in her chest, she sat on the bed and waited. 

She didn’t wait long, though the seconds ticked by like eternity. The door opened not two minutes later, banging off the wall as J entered the room in a flurry of purple and smeared paint. He was dragging something that appeared to be a body and for one sickening moment Harley feared it would be Jason or his father. 

Much to her relief, she did not recognize the man he was pulling along. With some effort he drug the body to the side of the bed and dropped it unceremoniously to the floor. Crossing back to the door, he slammed it shut and turned to Harley with a mad grin. There was malice in that smile, venom in his eyes, but still he crossed the room and pulled her close.

“Hey there, sugar, miss me?”


	16. Cocoa Hooves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which J does not approve of Harley's bleeding heart.

“Come on you hermit  
You never fight back  
Why don’t you play with bows and arrows   
Why don’t you dance like you’re sick in your mind   
Why don’t you set your wings on fire”

~Glass Animals “Cocoa Hooves”

///

Harley knew from the moment the door slammed shut that she was in trouble. There was malice in those black eyes as J greeted her and she didn’t miss it. 

Even so, if he wasn’t immediately going to start taunting her she refused to invite it.

“J, I missed you so much!” She bounced off the bed as quick as possible, despite the dread churning within her. In two quick steps she crossed the room and kissed him hard. 

He winced when she touched his face, which she’d not expected. Stepping back with a frown, she realized he wasn’t wearing his coat and his face was more exposed skin than paint. 

“What happened?” The words left her mouth so fast, all of her panic giving way to concern as she looked him over. 

There was a bruise forming on his cheek, his lips swollen and bloody. But when Harley tried to tend to him, he pushed her back with a shake of his head. 

“Doesn’t matter.” He spared a glance at the body beside the bed. “I brought Chinese, though, just like I promised.”

Clearly unamused and suddenly very aware that she was hungry, Harley looked down at the vaguely familiar form of the mob’s accountant Lau. 

She pulled a face. “I’m not eating him.”

The Joker let out a cackle that bounced harshly off the thin walls. “Of course not, sugar, but that’s not the point.”

Stepping heavily toward her, he took hold of her wrist and pulled her flush against him. A frown took his face as he spun her and pushed her squarely against the wall. With a hand on either side of her head, he moved close to make it clear he had her pinned in place. 

“The point, sugar, is that we both promised something, hm?” His knee pressed hard against her thigh. “I promised to bring you Chinese if I survived and you promised what?”

That panic began to wash up her spine in waves. “I promised to rest.”

He nodded, his bare hand suddenly gripping her jaw against those bruises. She whimpered and he gripped her tighter for it. “You did. And resting meant not leaving the room, didn’t it?”

“We never discussed that.”

Those fingers locked down on her jaw so hard she let out a cry. 

“Harley, you’re testing my patience, sugar.”

“Fine! Sure!” If he gripped her much harder he was going to break her. “It meant not leaving the room. Rest meant not leaving the room.”

Nodding his approval at her words, he blinked heavily. Those impossibly black eyes studied the stucco ceiling, seeming to note every crack before he turned his attention back to her. Feigned confusion creased his face and she knew what was coming next. Readied herself for it with a wince when he pushed her more tightly against the wall.

“So, if you weren’t supposed to leave the room because you were resting, why was it you were sitting outside when I pulled up, hmm?” That tone was so calm, so conversational, but the strength behind his grip reminded her of just how angry she had made him. “Why are you even awake at all?”

Squirming in his grip, Harley tried to pull back from him. His hand locked into her hair and she stood stark still, barely breathing. “I just went to get some snacks. Will you please let go? You’re hurting me!”

The hand in her hair let up, cradling the back of her head almost delicately while ensuring she’d not escape. Still he kept hold of her jaw. She could feel his nails biting into her flesh, skin crushing capillaries against bone to make those bruises even darker. The threat of tears burned in the corners of her eyes but she would not acknowledge them.

“We talked about you lying, sugar.”

“I’m not lying! You’re just being an asshole!”

She shoved hard against his chest and he stepped back, raising his hands as though surrendering. And then he laughed, dark and cold and completely void of humor.

“You keep acting like that and you’re gonna get spanked,” he warned, but the threat rang empty.

“I’d like to see you fucking try right now.” Harley’s voice was barely more than a hiss as she glared between J and the body on the floor. “You fucking touch me and I’ll scream loud enough to wake up your pet there.”

J rolled his eyes. “You can try, sweetheart, but Zak drugged him so good he’d sleep through the end of the world at this point.”

Prowling across the room, J went over to the body and shook him violently. “HEY!”

The unconscious man did not react. Not even when J turned back to Harley and dropped the body like hot garbage. He frowned as though disappointed - or like he was daring her, she couldn’t be sure - and shrugged theatrically. “Looks like he’s not getting up.”

Returning that frown, Harley crossed her arms across her chest. “I’m sure I can find a way.”

The sneer J gave her should have made her shiver. That malice, that disdain, it should have frozen her insides, should have made her surrender right then and there. But she was getting familiar with it now, knew that his ire was more for show than honest hatred. He wanted to intimidate her, but often lacked the tools to do so. That alone was enough to make her smirk, feeling she finally had some semblance of the upper hand.

“Sugar,” he said at length, running a hand over his mess of green hair. “If you find a way to wake up my pet, I’ll make you go find yours and put him to sleep.”

Just as quickly as it had formed, that smirk fell into horror. She tried to mask it, tried to frown and seem confused.

“I don’t know…” she began to say, but he was already shaking his head and waving her words away.

“Don’t think I didn’t see that little pup you adopted while I was gone.” He gave her a knowing look, that self satisfied grin forming against his scars as he sauntered back toward her. When he cocked his head, his neck popped in a way that sounded like breaking bone. “Cute little thing, wasn’t he? You should have seen him trying to hide behind the door to his room when I got out of the car. I think he was waiting for you to come back.”

Harley’s heart picked up speed, hammering against her ribs at the thought of Jason trying in vain to hide from the Joker. Biting into her lower lip, she shook her head as though denying something. She wasn’t quite sure what. It didn’t matter though, she knew he could see the fear. He had called her bluff effortlessly. One tiny threat and she crumbled like an old grave.

“J, please don’t be like this…”

“Don’t be like what?” His shoulders hunched, his head cocking to that odd angle it took when he was about to threaten her. “Don’t call you on your bullshit? Don’t force you to face the consequences of your actions?” His breath held a laugh that dripped venom. “I leave you alone for less than a fucking day and you have to find a way to break the rules again. Was the warehouse not enough of a lesson for you?”

She saw where this was going and it nearly made her sick. “Don’t you fucking…”

That spark in his eyes was too much. Her gaze fell to her feet and he went on just as she knew he would. “Do I need to hunt down that fucking sledge hammer and see how many swings it takes you to crush his skull? Maybe then you’ll finally think twice before doing something stupid.”

Her stomach turned. When she blinked she saw brain matter and bone. “J, don’t... he’s a kid. He’s not gonna do anything.”

Standing a breath away from her, he smoothed a hand over her hair. “Kids are loud mouthed little brats. He’s going to tell someone about you. He’s a liability. We can’t afford to have liabilities, sugar.”

“I’m not killing a goddamn kid that just lost his father, J!”

His face fell, forehead wrinkling as he processed her words. “He just…what?”

There seemed to be some amount of genuine concern there and it pulled truth from Harley like poison from a snake bite. “That’s why I was sitting outside with him. I went to get snacks and he fucking… he just stepped out of that room and asked me to wait with him while the ambulance came.”

That gentle hand on her hair paused at the base of her skull. Quirking a brow, J frowned and mulled over her words a moment. Eventually he sighed, hanging his head as though truly struggling with something. Black hole eyes pinned her in place and Harley felt very strongly that he was fighting the urge to slap her.

“He wanted you…. to wait with him… until the ambulance arrived?” The words were slow and gentle, as though he were speaking to a very stupid child. “Harley, do you know what usually comes along with an ambulance?” With a fistful of her hair gripped tight in his fist, he forced her to shake her head no. “Cops, Harley. Cops come with the ambulance. Especially when a goddamn child calls emergency services. And you, a missing person, were going to wait with the little boy outside in full view of anyone who pulls into that goddamn parking lot?”

It sounded so much worse when he said it. Her good deed was dissected and burned in front of her until it was nothing but ash.

“I just wanted to help,” Harley said feebly.

“Well, you did help, sugar. You helped make up my mind about what to do with him.”

Horrified, Harley watched J lope toward the door. Objections began to form on her tongue. She would beg and plead and cry if she had to. Jason would not be dragged into this, would not die at her hands because of this.

“J…” she began to say as he neared the door. And then he turned to the side of the bed, leaning down and hooking his arms under Lau’s shoulders.

“Would you get the door, sugar?” he asked, his voice clearly strained. Whether that was because of the body or his sudden lack of patience, she couldn’t be sure.

“Yeah, sure.” Confused, but determined not to anger him further, she crossed to the door and pulled it open. “What are you doing?”

“We are leaving. Get your stuff.”

“What? Why?”

“Because you went and opened your big fucking mouth and made friends with a kid that was waiting for the cops, Harley. You do realize this car is stolen, right?”

Harley shrugged, feeling so very small beneath his criticism. “Yeah.”

In the doorway he paused, raising an eyebrow at her. It was fascinating to actually be able to see his eyebrows beneath the paint. “Then you realize why we need to leave right fucking now, don’t you?”

She nodded, pressing her mouth in a tight line to hold back all of the failure welling within her.

With a quick nod, he pulled the body through the door. “Good, now stop wasting time.”

This, she was beginning to realize, was her least favorite part of being with J. His unfailing ability to make her feel so stupid and naïve despite everything she had shown him she was capable of. Every wrong move she made was pulled apart down to its very atoms to show her each detail of her failure.

Head down, grumbling under her breath, Harley went about packing up her bag. There wasn’t much to gather, just dirty clothes and her book. She went into the bathroom and took J’s greasepaint off the vanity. Parting with places she had briefly called home was becoming easier each time she did it, but that didn’t keep the pang of sorrow from her guts. Part of her longed for permanence, for a place she could stay for more than a day.

That harkened back to her need for some sort of stability, her longing to get back to her old life. Though she recognized that fully, her mind was over compartmentalizing things. She was separating too much, repressing things that really needed to be dealt with. But there was no time to do any of that. Not now, not ever. Especially not when J was constantly dragging her off to some new and awful thing she probably didn’t want to do.

Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she took a last sweep of the room before heading out the door after J. He took her bag from her and threw it into backseat of the car, leaving Lau’s body half-loaded in the trunk. 

“I’m sorry,” Harley tried to say, but he slammed the door closed to drown out her voice and she knew full well this was not a fight she would win easily.

With the growing weight of shame and defeat on her shoulders, Harley made her way around to the passenger side of the car. A door was cracked open down the side of the building and Harley distinctly recognized Jason’s dark hair and pale face in the dim light.

Glancing over her shoulder at J struggling to load the body, Harley took off across the lot toward the door. 

“I’ll be right back,” she called over her shoulder. “Left something in the room.”

A snarl followed her as she went, but there were no footsteps or empty threats to accompany it. Quick as a moth on the breeze, she sprinted over to the cracked door and was unsurprised when it shut before she could reach it. Face wrinkling with a frown, she leaned her shoulder against the chipped red paint and pressed her forehead to the cool surface.

“Jason,” she told the dark trim around the door, loud enough that the little boy on the other side could hear her. “I...I’m really...I need you to forget I was here, okay? I…”

“You’re a liar,” a small voice on the other side of the door said.

Pressing her lips in a tight line, Harley nodded and accepted the insult. “I am. I’m sorry about that.”

Silence. The trunk of the police car shut with a violent clatter and Harley glanced in the direction of the car long enough to watch J lumber to the driver’s door.

“Jason, I need you to forget I was here. I was a liar and I didn’t help you and it’s better if you just forget we met.” The words came out in a rush and Harley felt a sudden pang of guilt. “I gotta go, but I promise you that there will be someone here to help you and your daddy soon. If…” She hesitated, the words seeming to crush her under the weight of all the guilt she had been carrying for days. “If the Joker came this way, I’m sure the cops will follow.”

For another few breaths she waited, hoping that Jason would say something. That he would speak up and somehow his innocence would absolve her of all the shame she harbored. He said nothing and she accepted that with a nod. Heart sinking, she turned and headed back toward the car.

As she neared the curb, the door behind her creaked open. Hesitating, she waited for the little boy to say something. Anything. 

He gave an exasperated sigh and Harley turned to look over her shoulder into his bloodshot eyes. 

“Did he do that to you?” Jason asked, tracing her scars against his own cheeks. “Honest this time.”

Shrugging, Harley shook her head. “Nah. I didn’t lie about that. He didn’t do it.”

The door opened a hair more and Jason took a tentative step toward her. “Who did?”

Across the lot, the police car roared to life and Harley swore she could feel J’s gaze burning into her. 

“I gotta go...I can’t…” She frowned, eyes darting between the car and Jason. “Tell you what, you don’t tell the cops about me, alright? And when this all blows over we’ll see each other again and I’ll tell you all about it.”

Looking unconvinced, Jason shrugged. “I’ll think about it.”

Harley grinned, nodding in way of thanks. “That’s all I ask.”

Unable to spare another moment, she bolted off across the lot and slid into the passenger seat of the police car. J barely spared her a look. He threw the car into reverse before her door was even entirely shut and cackled at the way she huffed her frustration at him.

“Did you have to go poison the pup?” he asked, not taking his eyes from the road as she slammed the door closed.

Rolling her eyes, Harley shook her head. “Ruined his image of his savior.”

That drew a grin from him, as cruel as it was genuine. “Close enough.”

\---

They pulled into the driveway of a familiar lake house just as the sun rose fully over the harbor. 

Harley grinned widely over at J as he pulled the police car into a garage over to the side of the house. “If I would have known all I had to do was piss you off to get back to this place, I would have done it a long time ago.” 

Though he didn’t laugh, J did offer her a wry smile for that. “Good try, sugar. We aren’t staying long.”

Even so, he got out of the car and came around to the passenger side to open her door. She stepped out of the car and he motioned her toward the garage door. 

“You head inside and I’ll be right behind you.” Even as he said it he was turning back to the car and opening the trunk. “Tell one of the idiots inside to come out and help with this.”

Her bag was tossed onto the concrete floor and she went back for it with a huff. 

“You couldn’t hand it to me?” she griped. He said nothing. 

Slinging the duffle bag over her shoulder, Harley headed back toward the house. The front door was cracked open and she could see one of the strategists standing in the threshold. 

“The boss comin’?” he asked as Harley neared the door. 

Her eyes widened with surprise at the fact he had actually acknowledge her.

Smiling at him like a familiar friend, she nodded. “Yeah, he told me to head inside and he’d follow. There’s a body in the trunk he needs help with.”

The man said nothing, but let her into the house with a quiet step to the side. Frowning, she moved past him into the entryway and kicked off her shoes. If he wasn’t going to go out of his way to befriend her, there was no reason she should try so hard for his approval. Even so, she wished so much to be a part of J’s world. Getting accepted by his men seemed the first step to that. Zak seemed to like her well enough, but he was nowhere in sight and she already knew what the men that owned this house thought of her.

“There’s coffee in the kitchen.” The words surprised her, stopping her in her tracks.

She threw a smile over her shoulder at him. “Thanks.”

Following instruction, she went to the living room and fumbled around in the cupboards for a coffee cup. The french press on the counter waited for her like a long lost lover and for the first time in weeks she had a proper cup of coffee. There was even half n half in the fridge and sugar to sweeten the cup. 

Content and delighted, Harley took the cup and her bag and headed upstairs. It was unlikely J would like her hanging around and conversing with his men and she had a feeling they didn’t care to talk to her much anyway.

She made her way to the room they had shared during her recovery. Her memory of those days was nearly nonexistent, but it made her memory of the place no less fond. Perching on the bed he had first fucked her in, she wondered how life could pass so quickly. How a night that had been only a few days previous could feel like an eternity. Laying back, she remembered the press of his skin, how he had held her like she was made of porcelain and each touch felt like worship. 

Everything was so new then, so different than it was now, where every time he laid a hand on her there was a level of possession. She was his now, as much object as person. Maybe that was why the strategists were willing to give her a few passing words. They knew they had to take care of the things that belonged to their boss and now she was one of those things.

Squirming at the thought, she curled up and laid back on the bed.

Footsteps on the stairs let her know that J had finally decided to join her and she sat up to fight the urge to sleep. The door opened with a groan and J entered without a word to her. 

He was lost in thought, muttering under his breath and undressing as he went. Not even looking looking back at her, he made his way toward the bathroom with the clear intention to shower. For all of the conflicted feelings brewing within her, she couldn’t help smiling at the sight of his skin. There were fresh cuts on his shoulder, some bruises that she believed to be new as well. The concern she felt manifested in the best way she knew how with him; blatant flirtation.

“You gonna turn around and let me see the show?” she teased, crossing her legs and grinning up at him. “C’mon gotta let me see you naked one more time before you take over the city.”

The muttering came to a stop and he glanced over his bare shoulder at her. There was a smirk playing on his lips and the heat of it lit a fire in her. 

“Well, I thought the invitation was implied, sugar.” 

When he turned to face her, she was given her first look at him since he’d escaped police custody. There were bruises on his ribs so purple they were almost black. He definitely had a black eye and his forehead appeared to have some sort of wound as well, but that could have been the remnants of makeup. 

Hopping off the bed, she moved toward him, unbuttoning her shirt with each step. “You were mad at me.” 

A laugh escaped him, his tongue wetting his lips as he watched her. “Still might be, but that doesn’t mean I can’t fuck ya.” 

She gave him her best pout, feeling the expression turn to a smirk as she came to stand close to him. “If I let you fuck me, are you still going to be mad?”

He made no secret of looking her over, those black eyes taking in every detail of her skin as though afraid he’d never see her like this again. “Only one way to find out.”

She laughed, but didn’t argue. It didn’t matter if he was mad, they couldn’t stay mad at this point in the game. Whatever tonight held would change the world as they knew it. For better or for worse, they were in the thick of it now and there was a chance this was the last chance they would ever have to be intimate.

Harley refused to waste a second of it. 

Dropping her shirt to the floor, Harley held his eyes for one long moment before surging forward and wrapping herself around him. Their skin pressed tight together, his body heat transferring to her, his teeth digging into her lip. 

His hands were far more insistent than usual. Each scrape of his nails sent shocks straight through her, making her shiver and gasp against his skin. 

“You know I was worried sick about you,” she whispered, gripping his green curls between her fingers. “Every time you leave I worry. I knew exactly what you were up to and I could still hardly stand being away from you.”

“Sounds a little codependent, sugar.” But even as he said it, he was pressing her against the wall and unbuttoning her jeans. “Bet you can’t wait to come with me today, can you?”

There was a certain edge to those words, that self-important lilt that implied far more than she needed to admit. Her god ever searching worship. Powerless to deny even the most selfish of his requests, she shook her head and nipped at his earlobe.

Exhaling a shaking breath against his neck, she pressed herself closer to him. “I just want to be with you always.”

He smirked, seemingly satisfied with the admission. “I know, sugar. You will be soon. We’re gonna run this city.”

Greedy hands pressed against her ribs, travelling the length of her spine as his hips ground against hers. The sharp bite of his nails scraping her skin made her gasp and he grinned manically as he gripped her ass to pull her even more snugly against him.

“Are we even going to make it to the shower, sweetheart?” He was smirking against her jaw, the ghost of his greasepaint staining skin.

“Probably not.” Already she was pushing down his trousers and wrapping her hand around his cock. “You could fuck me against this wall and that would be just fine.”

The breath hissed through his teeth as she began to move her hand around him, running her thumb over the head of his cock just to hear him moan. For just a moment she considered falling to her knees and taking him into her mouth. It had been a long time since she’d let somebody fuck her mouth. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that he’d enjoy it, even if she was out of practice.

But even as she considered it her face ached and she knew it was a terrible idea. Another time, another place. They’d have this chance again once her face was properly healed, wouldn’t they?

Something in her chest ached at that question and she buried it in a kiss. Their limbs tangled as he fumbled to push down her jeans and slipped a hand into her panties. Nimble fingers pressed against her wet folds, teasing her clit until her knees buckled. Her hand slowed for just a moment as her body tensed at his touch and he took advantage of the momentary weakness.

One arm around her waist, he pulled her away from the wall and toward the bed, his fingers still pressing against her most sensitive flesh. “You know, I think I liked you on top of me the other night. You want to try it again?”

The invitation sent electricity straight down her spine. “Yes. Fuck, please. Let me ride you.”

Urgent kisses baited her back to the bed and they fell in a heap of limbs. Jittery hands pushed her jeans down her legs and she kicked the fabric from her ankles as she climbed atop him. She was already so wet, needing no further teasing, no encouragement. She just wanted him. Wanted to meld their bodies as wholly as she could manage. 

Taking his cock in her hand, she teased wet folds against the head, feeling a flush color her face as she fell into his black eyes. He stared, barely blinking, as her naked body rose over his like a wave and took him inside to drown him.

A gasp snuck past her lips, her eyes half lidded as he filled her. For a moment she paused, blinking slow as she adjusted to the stretch, to having him fit so tightly inside of her. 

“Shit,” she whispered, reaching down to lace her fingers with his. 

There was a smirk playing on his lips as he watched her. “You gonna be alright up there, sugar?”

She laughed, a little weak and breathy. “Yeah. Just….adjusting to your lack of foreplay.”

“You’re the one leading the charge here.” Sucking on his scar tissue, he raised his eyebrows like a dare. “I’d say this was your fault.”

For a long moment she stared down at him, catching his eyes and feeling a grin play against her scars. It absolutely was her fault, she knew what she was doing. Her muscles still felt tight from a lack of prep, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t ready. That she didn’t want this. That she hadn’t done this on purpose to make sure he felt every shift of her body.

“My fault?” Innocence saturated her tone as she began to move against him. Immediately his hand tightened its grip on hers. “Don’t sell yourself short. You do this to me.”

Again she moved her hips, finding a lazy pace as she moaned low in her throat. Arching her back just a bit, she steadied herself with a hand on his chest, letting her fingernails bite into his skin. The breath caught in his throat as a smirk settled crooked on her mangled lips. 

“Is that so?” 

Her shaking fingers traced from his bruised flesh to her own, gripping his hands on her hips and guiding them to cup her breasts. “Absolutely.”

“You know, I’m told that the sex gets old eventually.” There was a smile on his voice as he rolled her nipples between thumb and forefinger. “Think you’ll get sick of me once I stop being a good fuck?”

Those words were almost vulnerable, an unfamiliar edge lining them that Harley could not place. Never in her life had she heard him sound flayed open and exposed, but this was damn close. It gave her pause, stilled her hips and knit her brows close as she leaned down to whisper against his skin. 

“Not gonna happen.” Nipping at his jaw, she ground against him and moaned low in her throat as she took him fully inside her. “I doubt the sex will ever get old. And if it does there’s always the, uh…. Intellectual stimulation.”

He raised a paint smeared brow, clearly meaning to challenge her but lacking the words. She took advantage of his silence, rose above him tall and proud with her hands holding his against her skin. Despite his efforts to fuck her hard and fast, she set a lazy pace and smirked down at him.

“What?” There was a smugness to the way her eyes locked onto his, the way she turned her ocean eyes to drown the black hole he liked to become in these moments. “You don’t think I’m intellectually stimulating enough for you? Am I just a good fuck?”

She pouted her bottom lip at him until he squeezed too hard at her skin and she gave a sharp gasp. Eyes rolling shut, she tilted her head back and continued to ride him slow and steady. Each touch, each scrap of his nails begged her to go faster. Harder. Stubborn as ever, she absolutely refused. If he was going to offer her control, she would take every bit of it that she could sap from him. 

The laugh he gave was wholly expected, but no less infuriating. It would have bordered on insulting had she not rolled her hips just so and forced a moan from him. 

“You’re plenty of things, sugar.” His hands clawed down her ribs to sink into the flesh of her hips.

That didn’t sit quite right with Harley. It was a non-answer if it was anything and she restened it immediately. Clenching her teeth, she slowed her pace and tried not to miss the steady build toward climax. Instead she sank down on him and brought a hand between them to tease her clit. She barely moved, barely gave him any friction to get off on, simply held him tight inside her and worked on her own pleasure.

“Try again,” she said, her smile sickly sweet. “I asked if I was just a good fuck. Surely you don’t think that’s all I’m good for.”

“Sugar…” 

When he tried to move, she sank her nails into a bruise on his ribs. The growl he let out in response stilled her hips completely.

“Try again.” It was barely more than a whisper, her teeth and insecurity bared. “Honestly. Please…It’s not that hard.”

Again her raised an eyebrow at her, a smile quirking his lips in mangled cynicism.

Her hands fell to her sides, resting awkward and unsure against her thighs. Suddenly she felt too exposed, like she wasn’t fit to be on top of him. Like all of the time she had spent convincing herself that her feelings were reciprocated in that strange way of his had been a waste. Clearly she had been fooling herself for the better part of a few months if she thought he was falling for her. All of those pretty words of his had been blatant lies, if he could not even bring himself to tell her that he liked her for more than her body when prompted.

“Harley.” His voice was quiet, almost hoarse. “You know damn well you’re more than a good fuck, but if you, uh, don’t start fucking me again right this instant I’m gonna take you over my knee and spank you.”

Their eyes met and for a moment she swore she could feel the fire from his soul transfer straight to hers. Teeth catching her bottom lip, she nodded and began to move her hips in that lazy rhythm she’d set before.

Shaking his head, he wrapped his arms around her pulled her down so that her chest was flush against his. Lips pressed against the shell of her ear, he whispered soft as a breath, “Try again.”

Their skin never parted as he rolled them over and pinned her back to the sheets. Giggling against her shoulder, she sank her teeth into his skin like a form of protest. She received a laugh in response. It was expected. Welcome, even. 

His hands came to rest just above her shoulders before his hips slammed against hers. It drew a quiet curse from her, as did the second thrust. Each time their hips connected solidly she lost a bit of her breath. Tangling her arms around him, she began to meet each movement. Their hips connected like clockwork, his rhythm much more desperate than hers had been.

It was almost hypnotizing how he managed to hit just the right spot each time he filled her, how the angle of his hips was just right and his breath was too hot on her skin. Even when she was guiding him she sometimes missed the angle or didn’t grind against him quite right. But this… 

She lost her breath to this. To him. To the way their bodies seemed to meld and they cursed and snarled at each other like animals. Like this was some sort of test of teeth and claws. Her fingernails left hot red marks down his spine and he sucked deep purple marks onto her collarbone. 

“You know better,” he told her. It was a fact hissed through his teeth. “You know you’re so much more Harley.”

She could barely speak, each violent collision of skin stealing her air until her words became a whisper against the shell of his ear. “I need you to tell me.”

He gave a snort in response, rolled his eyes like she had asked him to recite poetry. 

“You’re brilliant.” Teeth against skin drew a cry from her, the brief pain giving way too pleasure faster than she could process. “You really like to play dumb when it suits you.” Claws lit her ribs on fire and she hissed, wrapping her legs around his hips. “But you’re too fucking smart for your own good. You drive me so fucking crazy. You’re too fucking good at this.”

“And that’s why you liked me, right?” Electricity lit up her nerves, release so close she felt her skin may burst. “Because you knew I was good enough. Because we match. All of my sharp edges fit with yours.”

“That’s right, sugar. We match. Nobody else could even compare.”

“And tomorrow when everything goes to hell…”

His fingers wove into hers and he kissed her so hard her face ached. “I’m gonna have you right there with me.” 

That was enough to sate her, to banish every creeping ache of self doubt so deep she’d never find it again. Clinging to him for all she was worth, she ground her hips against his until all thought became jumbled. Until she couldn’t feel her limbs. Until she was shaking and curing and coming against him so hard her mind went white. 

He followed soon after, cursing against her neck even as he laughed at her incessant need for validation. His fingers were still tangled in hers, holding tight as they both started to come down and the aftershocks began to wear off. 

For a long time he lay with his skin pressed tight to hers, half painted face resting against her chest. Mindlessly she ran a hand through his messy green curls, her thumb moving to caress the edge of his scarred cheek. He gave a quiet sound in response, his eyes slipping shut. 

It surprised her how peaceful he could look at the cusp of unconsciousness.

“You better get up if you’re going to take over Gotham today,” she teased, not meaning a word of it. 

He didn’t respond, just held a little tighter to her hand and encouraged her to follow him into blissful unconsciousness. She didn’t fight it for a moment, letting sleep claim the both of them with little thought to the day ahead.


	17. The Spaces in Between

"How we choose the framing of the scene  
Hate begins to spill across the screen  
Blinding light illuminates the scene  
Try to fill the spaces in between"

~How To Destroy Angels "The Spaces in Between"

\----

Harley's face felt hot. Greasepaint was spread thick across her eyes and cheeks, carefully avoiding her stitches. All J's handiwork, the result of fifteen minutes spent with his rough fingers sliding against her skin as she tried and failed to convince him to let her do this herself.

"Pain in my ass," he teased as his too-sharp nails poked at her face and smudged black cohl around her eyes. And then across her lips.

And then he kissed her and she melted against him.

"So where are we going?" she asked, swiping a gentle finger across his lips to get rid of the remnants of her lipstick.

With a shrug, he finished his work on her eyes. Brow furrowing, he scrutinized her face and made certain he was happy with his handiwork. Prying fingers poked and prodded at details until he finally hummed and nodded, seemingly finished.

More curious about how her makeup had turned out than concerned with actual plans, Harley leaned across the backseat until she could see her reflection in the rearview mirror. The chalk white face that stared back was almost unrecognizable with its black messy diamond eyes and inky lips. And the stitches, so stark and gruesome against her clownish facade.

For the first time Harleen Quinzel found herself staring at Harley Quinn, and she could not deny the power in that.

Fire burned in her veins as a smirk quirked her scarred lips. When she looked back at J, she could see that fire reflected in him and she swore that if they weren't in a moving vehicle she would have straddled him right there. Gotten in one last good orgasm before raising whatever hell he planned to summon.

"What is the plan, again?" Clearly distracted, she brought up a careful finger to trace the diamonds over her eyes and accidentally smudged one a little further up her forehead than the other.

Purple clad arms wrapped around her torso and pulled her back, his lips pressing against her ear as he spoke. "We have a meeting at the docks, sugar. Nothing exciting yet."

"Mmm maybe it will be exciting because I'm there?" Taking hold of his collar, she pulled him close and kissed him again before pushing him back just as quickly to straighten his tie.

With a good natured snicker he patted her cheek and gave her a face that told her she would get no further information from him. "Mob meetings are never fun, Harley. We'll have some real fun later."

Though his faith in her made her swell with pride, there remained a hollow point in her gut. Something about the way he refused to give her any clue as to what was actually happening did not sit right with her. Though she knew that he was about to turn over Lau to the mob, she knew nothing past that.

After all the chaos of the previous night, Harley could hardly wrap her head around the sheer number of pieces J had moved across the chess board of Gotham, let alone where they all stood now. He wanted her to be part of it, though, and that meant something. With her metamorphosis nearly complete, she decided to let him have his last few secrets. All would be revealed to her soon enough.

Or so she hoped.

J didn't tell her the plans, only insisted that she be part of them. It left her with a sinking feeling, like when she had gone with him to that warehouse where Brian Douglas had been strapped to a chair and tortured. Where she'd killed a man in cold blood. Deep down she knew today would be no different, she'd do it again and find a new way to bury guilt.

Perhaps at this point the need for guilt had left her completely.

Gravel crunched beneath the tires of the SUV as they arrived at the docks, where J and Zak led her to a large boat rusting quietly near a warehouse. There'd been some hushed exchange between J and some of his clowns, which Harley caught only bits and pieces of as she tried to figure out exactly why the mob would insist on meeting them here. Upon following J inside all of her questions were suddenly answered, though she still struggled to wrap her head around it.

There was a mountain of money in the middle of a freighter ship.

No matter how long Harley stared at it, no matter how many times she repeated the phrase in her mind, it still didn't feel real. Never in her life had she dreamt of seeing so much cash in one place. Certainly she never would have made it herself working at the coffee shop. Staring at it felt like some form of satire, the way it made her feel small in comparison to the staggering size of the fortune.

Billionaires had money like that. Bruce Wayne could look at that pile and think it small in comparison to what he undoubtedly had hidden in some family vault. People like Harley - people like J - they didn't get that kind of money. They were forced to live off the scraps of people that hoarded these types of fortunes.

According to J it was the mob's collected savings, and half of it was theirs.

"You're fucking joking, right?" she said for at least the fourth time as they circled the pile, teeth worrying the laceration inside her mouth so hard she tasted blood.

His lip twitched at the idea of a smile, "Most likely."

"No, no, no." Harley huffed a sigh and came around to stand on the opposite side of the pile from him. "J you can't… You can't keep half of this. What are you gonna do with it?"

There was an obvious snort from across the room. "Burn it."

Despite her best efforts to mask her reaction, Harley made a face and snorted. "Bullshit. I'm being serious. You could…. You could feed the homeless of Gotham for a year. Fuck, you could house them too." There was a tug somewhere in her brain, a vague memory of something he had told her when they first met. "Honestly, if you want to give Batman a run for his money and show how flawed his methods are, that's how to do it. Show that you can do more good for the city with the right investments and time and care rather than-"

Her words were cut short in a gasp as purple clad arms encircled her waist and he breathed hot against her ear. She hadn't even heard him approach.

"Kind of a boring end to the chaos plan, isn't it, sugar?" Harsh laughter stung her skin as he spun her around to face him. "Gotham is too far gone for that anyway."

Harley pursed her lips, clearly not agreeing but well aware that arguing was a losing battle. This wasn't about Gotham, they both knew that. J was too far into his plan at this point, too committed to the destruction of a city that he viewed as somehow corrupted at its core. The plan wasn't an act of charity, it was an act of revenge. There was no salvation in his void.

And even if he tried, no one in Gotham would accept his help at this point.

Her flawed idol, a martyr on his own cross. It shouldn't fool her. She knew deep down that everything he had gotten himself into was self inflicted. If he had just done things differently…

That arm around her waist tightened and she turned her head to look at him and for what felt like the first time she really saw him. Saw the cracks in the warpaint, the madness dancing in his void black eyes, stringy hair, snarling grin. In so many ways he was a monster, a wolf dragging her kicking and screaming back into the forest to be eaten. For the first time in a long time she found herself truly frightened of him, of what she had gotten herself into because of him.

"Is it?" she asked, because she didn't know what else to say and her heart was getting caught in her throat.

His face screwed up as he looked down at her, puckering as though her words were sour. "Yeah."

"Why do you think so?"

He laughed at that, his cold leering laugh that always made her skin crawl. "Harley… sugar… I don't have time to get into a complete breakdown of the people in power and capitalism driving the poor into the gutter, so you're just gonna have to take my word for it if you want to keep playing dumb. But if you'd like to pull your head out of your ass and take a look at the road that led you here, I think your smart little noggin will be able to piece together why I'm right."

The hand on her hip tightened like a threat. In moments like this she was never certain if he was avoiding answering her question because he was so entirely committed to his cause that he could not see flaw in it, or if he was afraid of diving into his own logic too deeply for fear of it breaking apart. Not that he would ever claim to have logic attached to this.

Harley cleared her throat before wriggling out of his grip. "You don't have to be condescending."

Quick as lightning his hand caught in her hair and tugged it back to make her look up to face him. "And you don't have to be such a pain in the ass."

The fight rose up in Harley like the tide, only to ebb away when the door opened and J let go of her like she was burning him.

"Straighten up, sugar, we've got company." J patted her cheek before clambering up the pile of money, leaving Harley to watch the figures silhouetted by the sunlight pouring in the open door.

And just like that she knew they would never finish that conversation. Any argument she had left burned up and floated off like ash as she listened to those thick Russian accents fill the large chamber. Those voices assured her in a language she didn't understand that she now had a part to play in all of this. She was going to be seen and it was going to bury her so deep in this shit that she couldn't dig her way out if she tried.

Except, the longer the meeting went on, she realized that she wasn't.

Wasn't being seen or heard or even noticed in the room full of clowns and mobsters discussing the Joker's grand plan. There was just Harley standing off to the side, arms crossed as she watched J theatrically climb to the top of the pile of cash before jumping down the other side like a child on a snow hill. Deep down she knew she had no place here, her gut screamed at her to run, to never look back.

Somewhere along the way Zak came to stand beside her, silent as the grave, but clearly in tune with her discomfort. Together they watched as J began what appeared to be negotiations with the mob, though from as far back as they stood it was difficult to hear.

Harley frowned, crossing her arms and tapping her foot as she resigned herself to waiting. This was supposed to be her moment to join this game of his and instead he had left her once again on the sidelines. Not that he could have done much to make her presence here truly notable.

Perhaps a grand entrance? J announcing her like some sort of carnie shouting about a ring toss game. Or perhaps she would have been pushed to kill again? To take the leader of the mob by the throat and slit him from sternum to groin.

Just the thought made her guts turn.

Truth be told she didn't want that, any of it, but she did want to be seen as the Joker's equal. His partner rather than another face amongst the clowns. She was more, she was better, she was His.

"Scared?" Zak spoke so quietly that Harley barely processed that it was his voice.

She frowned. Shrugged. "Not scared."

"Overwhelmed?"

"That might be more like it." Again she shrugged, running an agitated hand over her hair. "He made it sound like me being here would make a difference."

Zak snorted and tried to cover it with a cough. "Doesn't it?"

When Harley pulled a face at that he simply raised an eyebrow in response. Across the room there were dogs barking and raised voices, but they were so separated from the action that it may as well have been happening in another room.

"I just thought being here would make me part of the action. With the way J talked I figured it would be more... dramatic." As if her words were a dare, the pile of money went up in flames.

Harley blinked. Twice. Worried her bottom lip with her teeth. Even Zak flinched as it happened and together they stared in stunned horror as the fortune turned to ash. Taking a step back from the sweltering heat of the fire, Harley fought the urge to go pick a few stacks of not yet cindered bills from the inferno.

Possessed by the same urge, Zak took a quick step forward and picked two handfuls of bills off the pile. One he shoved into his pocket and the other he handed to Harley. He looked around to make sure no one had noticed, but the rest of the room seemed far too occupied by the blaze to notice.

"Word to the wise," Zak said, just loud enough to be heard of the crackle of flame as Harley shoved money into the pockets of her black Carhartt coat. "In this particular ballgame, it's better to be on the sidelines."

Harley nodded, pressing her lips together in a tight line. "I...I wanted to be right up on the front lines, in the middle of the action…"

"The front lines are really not glamorous, Harley." There was bitterness in Zak's voice that reminded her of J on the rare occasion he opened up about his past. "There's no room for us on his battlefield, anyway. Joker is a one man show."

Despite knowing deep in her guts that Zak was right, that still made Harley twitch. All of J's big talk about being equals, partners in crime, cut from the same fabric was pointless. It didn't matter what she did to prove she was worthy of his attention when he had decided that she was unworthy of anyone else's.

Or maybe he just didn't want anyone else to notice her. Maybe he just wanted to keep her as his personal little plaything until he tired of her.

"Yeah." The word tasted bitter, her insides suddenly numb. "Guess so."

Staring into the dancing firelight, she gave up all of her little fantasies of helping J bring Gotham to its knees. Images of him holding her close and kissing her while the city was reduced to ash around them like a fucked up reenactment of the end of Fight Club.

Her gaze climbed the burning mountain before her, landing with surprise on the burning body at its peak. Somehow she had nearly forgotten about Lau delivered like a bow on top of the giant "fuck you" gift J had given the mob, left to burn and become one with the fortune he had sworn to keep so secure.

Something about seeing consequence laid out so clear at the hands of the Joker's grand plan made Harley suddenly appreciate the sidelines. Perhaps she really was better left as a casual observer. Her mouth opened and a gunshot across the room interrupted her. The dogs that had been barking a few moments ago were growling now and the sound of tearing flesh made her spine tingle.

Whatever that was, whatever any of that was, it was far more gruesome than anything she wanted to deal with.

"Harley!" J's gruff voice barking her name across the room felt like an electric shock to the brain. It shoved her off the mountain of her thoughts and left her broken as she tried to gather herself and rush across the room.

By the time she reached him, her eyes had just barely learned to focus again. "Yeah?"

J smiled at her, all yellowed teeth and cracked greasepaint. One arm snaked around her waist and a gloved hand took hold of her jaw to make sure she was giving him her undivided attention.

"You enjoying your field trip, sugar?" That condescending sneer he used to talk to people he considered below him dripped off every word and she had to bite her tongue to keep from talking back. Not that her answer mattered as he went on without waiting for her answer. "We gotta scoot, but I've got a present for you."

When she frowned in response he gripped her jaw a little tighter and she winced before smiling as best she could. Fear was eating at the edges of her mind, every fiber of her body amped up and ready to run or respond to pain or fight like her life depended on it. All of the noise in the background became static to her mind, the Joker's leather gloves on her skin grating her like sandpaper. She tried to wriggle out of his grasp and the arm holding her to him pulled her flush to him.

"Harley…" His voice was low, almost soft. "You look ready to burst out of your skin, sugar." A kiss was pressed to her temple. "Look at me."

She obeyed, feeling she had little choice. And when she did, when she really looked at him, his face softened and the hand on her jaw moved to gently cup her face. That overwhelming cacophony around them dulled as she stood there seeing only him, feeling only the warmth of his body against her.

"That's my girl." He smiled, that real genuine warm smile that made her grin back. "What's eating at you, sugar?"

A frown tugged too hard at her scars. "It's… I…"

The words died on her tongue, all of them so insignificant in the grand scheme. In his scheme. Just like her. Insignificant to everyone except him. Maybe that was all she really needed, to be here with him and significant in his view. In those fathomless black holes of his gaze, she was the thing that would shift gravity.

She swallowed hard, feeling silly as she answered. The smoke in the air was making her eyes water. "I was expecting more action."

A sneer took his face to reveal the great gaping flaw of everything she had been expecting. Clearly he had no patience or time for her whining today.

"Should I, uh, throw you a parade next time?" Raising his eyebrows, he searched her face for a place for his dissecting words to make their first incision.

Shame shrunk her form as she tried to back away and his arms held her tightly in place like harnesses on a surgical table.

"I didn't mean it like that." The breath she took to try to calm herself tasted like burning paper. "I thought you would give me something to do. That's all. It's really fine, I don't…"

"Harley, Harley, Harley." His gloves hand smoothed the hair down her shoulders. "Do I need to give you back your sledgehammer?"

Something in her guts turned at that implication. The spray of viscera forever imprinted on her psyche flashed behind her eyelids. Spiders crawled across her nerves and burrowed deep in the crevices of her mind to web together all of the violence she longed to forget.

"No." It was a tiny word that cracked on her teeth and tongue. "No, I… J please."

This time when she breathed in the air was thick with smoke. Her nostrils and throat burned, making her cough so hard her eyes watered. When she looked up at J the room was so thickly clouded in grey that she could only just see his face.

"We should go." Thick droplets of sweat ran down her brow. When she shifted she could feel her shirt sticking to her back. "Just forget I said anything."

With a growl he clung to her, stood firmly as though his shoes were anchored to their position on the ship. "Oh, no, sugar. You're so keen on talking about things, let's talk about this. Tell me how I'm failing your expectations."

Harley's face screwed up, frustration and anger and hopelessness all starting to coagulate in her throat and make her sick. "Stop it. Just…. Stop. Please."

"Nope, you don't get out of this one so easy, sugar. You had something to say, say it." The reflection of the blaze behind her burned in J's coal black eyes.

It was like staring into her own funeral pyre. She had to say something fast, had to convince him to stop forcing her to stand in this sweltering room. Heart fluttering like a moth in her chest, she glanced frantically around the room to find them alone with the mountain of million dollar ash.

"I…" Swallowing hard, she tried not to think about the way her breath stung. "I wanted to light the match."

That was all she could think of, all she could do to sate the monster that dared her to tread farther into the darkness.

For a moment their silence crackled amongst the flames and she hoped it would be enough. Watching his face, she followed her words as they rang in his ears to form lines in his greasepaint. Confusion, bewilderment…

And then a smile.

A laugh.

That rough sound that clawed through his vocal chords to shake her bones. The sound was half bark as he cackled and coughed and waved a hand, though if it was to dismiss her thought or clear the air she could not tell.

"Sugar, you throw all sorts of matches." Another hoarse cough. "I don't think you need another."

Harley simply raised a sardonic eyebrow for fear her mouth would get her in trouble.

It only made him laugh and she thanked every lucky star she had as he turned toward the door and took her arm. "Don't worry, there will be plenty more fires for you to light today. This one is nothing compared to what we're gonna do to Gotham General."

Nearly tripping over her feet, Harley followed him through the thick rancid smoke trying to piece together what his next game was. How he so easily seemed to have all of the pieces of his chess board set and consistently stayed five moves ahead of her.

They stepped through the cargo opening and into the bright Gotham summer. For a moment Harley forgot every question that danced on her tongue in favor of a few lungfuls of air not tainted by burning paper. Her lungs ached and she coughed and spat phlegm onto the concrete. Though her pace slowed, J's did not and he wasted no time tugging her along like some reluctant toddler.

"Gotham General?" she repeated, her mouth still tasting like a forest fire. "What's at-?"

J shook his head and continued pulling her toward the waiting black SUV. "Think before you ask stupid questions, sugar. Weren't you paying attention at all?"

Though she really hadn't been, she knew better than to admit that to him. Picking up the few puzzle pieces she had, she assessed what she knew of the big picture and tried to fit them in place.

"That...that's where Harvey Dent is being treated?" It was a guess, but he gave half a nod. Clearly an affirmation, but also absolutely not the end of the thought. "You're gonna… kill him?"

Wrong answer.

When his gait slowed and he tried to round on her, she simply laughed like that was a joke.

"C'mon, puddin', you really think I would underestimate you like that?" Her grin was far more confident and devilish than the rest of her felt. "You're letting him go, aren't you?"

A shot in the dark, but one that seemed to appease him. Harley's face betrayed surprise at that being the right answer and as he opened the door for her to climb in he clearly noticed and rolled his eyes.

"What?" he growled, biting off the word quick and making her flinch.

Trying to dismiss the thought with a shrug, Harley began to climb inside before his hand clamped on her shoulder. She gave a squeak and let herself be pulled back against his chest. Chin lifting instinctually, her eyes slipped shut as that gloved hand gripped her jaw between thumb and forefinger.

"I don't have time for your bullshit, sugar." His breath was hot and impatient against the shell of her ear. "You have about five fucking seconds to spit it out before I leave you here."

Swallowing hard, Harley tried to calm the deafening rhythm of blood pumping in her ears. "He's in critical condition. Letting him out could be fatal."

"Not nearly as fatal as talking back to me." Gripping her jaw a little tighter, he placed a kiss to her temple. "Leave the details to the experts, sugar."

"I thought you liked it when I called you on your bullshit." Her voice was quiet, just loud enough for him to hear. "And besides, of the two of us, I'm the one closer to a medical degree."

The smile he gave her was humorless, but he let her go nonetheless and she scrambled into the car before he could change his mind. His anger was punctuated by the door slamming behind her and Harley had to bite her tongue to keep from saying something else to dig herself further into a hole. Clearly J was not in a mood to be questioned and trying to do so would only land her in trouble.

Though she never thought he would actually hurt her, she didn't want to test him to see what he was capable of. Not with his mood as it was today.

The door on the other side opened and she started to form an apology of sorts for when J climbed in.

Except he didn't.

Three of the biggest rottweilers Harley had ever seen piled into the backseat beside her. Their dark furred maws were still damp and stained with something crimson. When the first of the lot growled at her, its teeth were still stained red with bits of sinew stuck between its incisors. For once Harley, who had never met a dog she didn't like, felt a little intimidated.

The driver's door opened and Zak climbed into the vehicle, followed a moment later by J sliding into the passenger seat.

"Present for you, sugar." By his tone, it was clear he thought himself very clever.

Harley's temples throbbed, the back of her neck so tense turning to meet his eyes in the rearview mirror was almost painful. There was not a grimace on earth suited to convey what she would have liked to scream at both of the men in the front seat, so instead she simply gave them both a tight lipped smile.

"What are their names?" she asked only for the dog beside her to give another low growl.

In that moment every bit of frustration and fury Harley had been feeling welled up so hot and violent that she could not help but burst like a volcano gone dormant for too long. Snarling at the dog, she rose up tall and yelled so loud the silence that followed was deafening. "HEY, BUD, WATCH IT!"

To her surprise the dog shrank a bit before nosing the finger she had stuck out to it like a threat. It gave her a hesitant lick and she scratched it behind the ears in return. In the thrumming silence that followed, Zak started the car and slowly pulled out of the lot.

"Well," J said with a smirk. "I think you've named one of them."

\---

Gotham General Hospital was in chaos.

That was how he wanted it, she supposed. People running about in a panic as patients were escorted into a convoy of school buses that were meant to bring them to another location for care. For most, that is exactly what would happen.

And then there was this one.

Harley wasn't exactly sure why Zak had insisted that she stay in the car, three dogs crowding her space and trying to chew at the leather seats, but he and J were off doing something and she was left to watch the bus.

It was parked maybe 100 yards away from the SUV, the last in a line of identical yellow school buses that had been volunteered for this job. Some of the hospital's healthier patients were being loaded inside, a TV crew standing near it from GCN reporting what they could of the scene, and a mess of cops milling about around it.

Just looking out at them made her throat dry.

Almost at a distance she wondered what would happen if they found her here. Would they notice her, all painted face and scabbed lacerations? Unlikely considering the tinted windows and absolute mayhem that surrounded them.

But if they did…

Harley frowned, wondering at a distance if she had been missed. Ann certainly had put out a missing person's report because she was missing work, but beyond that no one was really around to care. Something deep in her gut ached, realizing how small her circle was and how alone in the world she really had been before J. Though she accused him of isolating her, was it really so different than what she had been doing to herself?

Heaving a sigh, she pressed her painted temple to the window and stared distantly into the scuffed leather back of the passenger seat.

Beside her one of the dogs whined and Harley reached out an absent hand to pet it. The dog recoiled in response. That one was Lou, she was pretty sure. The three were almost identical. Bud, Lou, and Charlie. Already she was fond of them, even if they seemed less than fond of her.

Maybe that wasn't fair. They weren't mean or particularly temperamental, they simply seemed wary. Over the past hour Harley and the dogs had come to something of an agreement. The four of them could easily share the back of the SUV so long as they stayed in their respective space.

In the back of her mind Harley was already coming up with ways to retrain them. Considering books and possible internet resources on how to train formerly mistreated dogs. J would probably make fun of her for that, but she didn't care. If he was going to insist that the dogs were a gift for her, she was going to make them her own.

There was a commotion with some of the cops outside, a radio call that seemed to have a few of them yelling about a collision. The door and distance made it difficult for Harley to piece together anything more than that, but a moment later it became the least of her worries.

Right on time and yet all too suddenly there came a thunderous sound that shook the parking lot. The SUV quaked and the dogs whined as a far wing of Gotham General went up in flames. Even knowing the vague idea of the plan, Harley found herself unable to breathe as she fixed her attention on the emergency room door.

J had assured her that this would be quick, nothing to worry about, he would be long gone by the time the hospital blew. He held the detonator, he wouldn't blow himself up and if Harvey Dent killed him or turned down his offer he wouldn't blow anything up at all.

Those flames at least meant that he was alive and everything was going according to plan.

Realizing the latter didn't necessarily seem like a good thing made her twitch. She couldn't afford to be thinking like that, not now. Even if she disapproved of J's grand scheme it did her no good to not play along. Just being in this SUV put her in a position to be taken down if he was caught, if she was found, if even the slightest thing didn't work in their favor.

Another explosion, closer this time.

A gasp left Harley's lips as J emerged from the emergency room entrance. She almost didn't recognize him as he practically skipped, arms outstretched to take in the chaos he had created all while wearing a fucking nurse's uniform of all things.

Just the sight of him seemed to release a pressure valve in her skull. She laughed, unable to help herself. Though she pressed a palm to her mouth to mute the tiny giggle, she was helpless to hold back the absolute cackle that climbed up her throat as he fumbled with the detonator before taking the entire emergency ward out in one last blast of flame.

With a swell of pride, Harley watched him climb into the back of the school bus that had been idling near the SUV. It took off immediately and Harley realized that the camera crew from GCN must have climbed inside during the explosion.

Another box checked in J's favor. Harley knew he had been hoping for something like this, though she didn't know why. All she knew was that he had been talking to the goons about bringing another tape down to the news station later that afternoon. This would no doubt save some time.

The driver's side door opened and Harley and the dogs both snapped to attention as Zak climbed inside and started the engine.

"Where to next?" Harley asked.

Zak's sullen face made her mouth go dry. He didn't answer and she didn't pry further. Whatever came next, Harley had the sinking realization she would not like it. Furthermore, she was afraid it would be the one part of the game that may actually involve her.

\----  
To Harley's great dismay, she was right. Or rather, half right. Though nothing about the day had gone how she imagined, following the bus to a construction site overlooking the docks was undoubtedly the most surreal.

J had climbed out of the bus barking orders still dressed in that ridiculous nurse's uniform and Harley had been instructed in no uncertain terms to stay in the car until told otherwise. There was a tiny voice in the back of her mind screaming to disobey, but by the time she had worked up the courage to act on that impulse, the door opened and J climbed inside.

"What are we doing here?" Her quiet voice filled the tiny cab of the vehicle. "Are we hiding here or-?"

Clearing his throat, J spoke as though he hadn't heard her. "Do you remember that first day I showed you my suit, sugar?"

Confused, Harley opened her mouth and snapped it shut just as quickly. "Yes?"

With a sharp whistle, J motioned for the dogs to climb out of the vehicle and they obeyed without any of the attitude they liked to give her. As soon as they were outside, J shut the door with a snap and turned his full attention to her.

"Do you remember what you were doing?" he asked, absently unzipping the uniform.

Color rushed to her cheeks as she shook her head no and he gave a grunt of disappointment. She wanted to ask what he was doing, what it meant, but all those questions felt pointless. There was a strange juxtaposition to sitting here dreading what would come out of his mouth next and having the distinct urge to push the fabric from his shoulders and help him undress.

The scarred, bruised flesh of his abdomen was exposed as he pulled the white fabric over his head. "Harleyyy, my eyes are up here. I need you to focus."

Scoffing at his teasing, Harley smoothed the hair from her face. "I don't know what part of the night I'm supposed to be remembering. I was painting and you…"

"Bingo!" The revelation surprised her and she simply stared as he pulled on his purple trousers. "And what were you painting, sugar?"

She hated this. Hated when he played these stupid games instead of just answering her question. "I was painting the harbor with the ferries."

Nodding, he began to pull on his button up shirt. "Then this place should be very familiar."

The condescension in his voice made her tense, jaw tightening painfully as she attempted to stop herself from yelling. Clearly he must have noticed this and gave a light chuckle. That was all it took to snap her patience like a guitar string tuned too tight.

"Would you stop doing that?" Her hands balled into fists and twitched at her sides. "I am so sick of you talking in riddles and then acting like I'm stupid when I don't immediately understand the delicate ennui of what you're implying. You are so fucking full of yourself and your own goddamn brilliance and I'm tired of being yanked around like a dog on a leash and then made to feel stupid when I can't keep up."

A moment of silence followed that, before he cleared his throat and went on as though he had not heard her. Something about that was infinitely more frustrating than an outburst from him would have been.

"You had that stupid light in the painting and you told me about how you used to go there as a kid and I thought to myself 'Harley needs to know you're making her part of the game' so I set this up specifically for you." He raised his eyebrows at her, eyes boring into hers as he gathered her hands in his and kissed her knuckles. "This is all for you, Harley. The whole fireworks show is in your honor."

The lines in Harley's face hardened as she processed his words and he finished dressing.

"Fireworks?" It was more statement than question. "Like the hospit… no. J, no. Please. What good does that do?"

Fires lit in the coal black depths of his soul, reflecting back in his eyes. "Well, sugar, I am so glad you asked! You see, they are planning to send over boatloads of civilians, right? But they want the dangerous criminals of Blackgate off the island before I can...oh, I don't know...turn them over to my side? Set them loose on the city…? The usual."

Bile was rising in Harley's throat, each idea more repulsive than the next. Taking down the mob was one thing, they were bad guys. Taking down corrupt politicians, the absurdly wealthy, the crooked cops that hurt innocent people to earn dirty money was all fine. But this...they hadn't talked about anything like this.

"J that's horrible." The words fell on deaf ears, as she knew they would, but she could not help pushing forward. "What happened to taking down the bad guys? What happened to fighting corruption?"

"I never said that's what we were doing, sugar." A roll of his eyes and a wave of his hand told her that was supposed to be the end of it. "It's not that simple."

"It isn't?!" Her voice broke with her patience, shoving at his shoulders and putting distance between them. "I think you just told me you want to murder innocent people for….for what? Some fucking stunt?"

Crushing her knuckles in his vice-like grip, he shook his head like a dog trying to dry off from rain. "It's about sending a message, Harley." The words were ground out against his teeth and Harley barely fought the urge to recoil back from his hateful sneer. "They send a ferry of civilians and a ferry of criminals from Blackgate out at the same time. We cut power and communication between the boats and tell them they have to sacrifice the other boat to survive or we kill them both in an hour. You wanna know which boat blows up? It's gonna be those hardened fucking criminals. Then your precious civilians won't be so fucking civil, will they? They'll turn on the weak at the first sign of trouble."

With one good pull, Harley rescued her fingers from his punishing hands and shook her head. "People are better than that."

"Bullshit." With a snort he turned to open his car door and Harley let out a cry of rage.

Lashing out, Harley grabbed his sleeve and held tight, teeth bared as she held him with all her strength. "You're bullshit! You and you fucking Jigsaw bullshit. What are you trying to prove?"

There was so much hurt in her, the bitter taste of betrayal, that feeling that her martyr had been fighting for the wrong side all the time. She was too far into this, knew better than to look into the harsh judgemental light of day now, and yet she did. And just like staring into the sun, it made her eyes burn and her heart race.

It was all falling apart, but she couldn't face that reality.

A sudden force hit her, knocking her over as J pushed her over in the seat and laid his entire weight on top of her. His hips crushed hers as he rolled her to lay chest to chest with him. A small noise of protest rose in her throat, but never met the air between them.

Pressing his lips to her temple, he gave her a few fleeting kisses before gripping her jaw and staring down at her. "I told you what I'm proving, Harley. I'm proving that you aren't gonna push my buttons and that deep down everyone is corrupt. We are alone in this world."

Obviously she was not going to win this, so Harley did the only other thing she could think to do. She sighed, she kissed him, and she let out a weak laugh. "You have me. We have each other."

J snorted, but smiled at her nonetheless. "There are exceptions to every rule, sugar. Doesn't change the rule."

Harley frowned, becoming increasingly convinced that his rules were bullshit. He always said rules were made up anyway, but she wasn't about to point out that flaw now. Especially as his face grew serious and he smoothed the hair back from her face, careful not to smudge her greasepaint.

"You don't know if people are actually innocent, Harley." His lips brushed hers as he spoke, as if he were kissing away all of the pain he was about to cause her. "I'm sure there are good people, sugar, but I've never met 'em. You remember that old man that used to come get coffee in the mornings right around the time that I did?"

There was a sinking feeling as she nodded, knowing he was about to shatter her worldview but unwanting of it.

"Wasn't it strange that he didn't start showing up regularly until I did?" Those mangled lips were starting to twist into a smile and Harley braced herself for the blow that would make her stomach sink as he ruined the last little part of her world that had been safe. "And wasn't it strange how after he saw you talking to me he suddenly took a keen interest in your life? I thought he looked familiar the first few times I saw him, but it wasn't until my little meeting with the mob that I recognized him. He's one of the Falcone family's nearest and dearest, and he sold you out to them to get to me. Sent their little attack dog after you to give you those little beauty marks. No one is who they seem, Harley. You can't trust anyone."

Ice filled her guts, his words paralyzing her in the seat. All that registered were his lips against her stitches, the prolonged contact with her itching skin making her want to scream but her slowly shattering worldview keeping her silent.

The coffee shop had been the last fair happiness in Harley's life when everything else seemed to be going to shit. She was dirt poor and down on her luck, but dammit she had a job she enjoyed and customers that she had grown to know as friends. Coffee regulars were the fiber of her reality, the smiling faces that had brightened her day and reminded her that customer services wasn't all bad. Those people knew her by name and she knew them and deep down they all cared for each other in the way one cared for distant cool cousins they only saw at an annual family reunion. It was not a deep bond, but it was a sacred one.

Having that last bond taken from her and shattered at such a base level stung, but it would have been a sting she could overcome had he not persisted. "Your cop friends were no better. Paid off weekly by the Russians to turn a blind eye on their drug trafficking. The group of EMT's that stopped by every so often let police brutality victims die on the street. The group of - "

"Stop it!" Harley didn't realize she was crying until she tried to speak and her tight throat forced a sob from her. "Please! Just stop...you've made your point."

That bitter laugh pierced right into her soul and she knew he had something else up his sleeve. She tried to push him away, to cover her ears, anything to hold on to the last string of hope in humanity she had left. Nothing helped. In the end he pressed his lips to her ear and gently sliced away the last of her humanity.

"Annika's daddy is a sitting member of the Wayne Industries board of directors." Harley opened her mouth to object, but found she did not know the truth. "I know that doesn't seem too insidious, I know, sugar. But what grates on me is the fact she never helped you. Your fucking boss couldn't be bothered to give you more than scraps. She paid you less than enough to survive and watched you starve. It wasn't until she thought you were going to lose everything that she helped, and even then it was a paltry handout. Barely enough to get by on. You would have been left in the gutter if I hadn't come along."

There was an ache in her chest as that truth sank in. Its accuracy was questionable, she knew that, but she could not deny the truth that rang through it all. A fresh sob ripped up her throat and she tried to curl on herself as though she could shrivel away and be set free of this cruel and unforgiving existence.

Tutting his disapproval, he sat back and pulled her with him, her head held tight against his shoulder as she cried and he cooed meaningless platitudes. How could this be her reality? How had she been so blind to the world around her?

Everything was falling apart and the only anchor she had through any of it was the man holding her now. She buried her face in his coat, embarrassed at her own ignorance and terrified of what it meant for the future.

The world had betrayed her, all of its goodness a mask for the harm it meant her. Even those that had always seemed so trustworthy to her had been using her, taking advantage of her. She was a pawn in everyone's game and that was the harsh reality of it all. To everyone that had ever pretended to love her she was a means to an end and none of them had ever been forthright about it.

At least with J, even if he was manipulating her, he never lied to her. All of his malice was honest, upfront. In a dark mirror of the real world, his cruelty was apparent first and his kindness something that had to be dug for.

And unlike the rest of the world, once she had earned his affection there was no doubt in her mind that he would never withdraw those feelings.

That was how it should be, that raw honesty so much less painful than the fickle world she had believed herself so safe in. Here she had been longing for her old life, when that life was no worse off for being rid of her.

Stomach turning, she found herself realizing once again that she and J really were cut from the same cloth. They were two halves of a whole, the only safety either had ever known being the safety of each other.

And then she laughed. A little hollow at first, a mirthless giggle at the sheer ridiculousness of all of this, at how fate had pushed her to him just to show her the absurdity of the society she had known. The false promises she had been fed since childhood all shriveled and burned in her mind and she wasn't quite certain if she was crying, but it felt like laughter. It all felt so goddamn funny.

Life really was just one cruel joke, wasn't it?

She couldn't help but laugh.

"That's my girl." J's voice sent a shiver up her spine and she looked at him, really looked at him. The one goddamn person who had ever been honest with her, the man she loved with her entire being, was somehow the man the world was painting to be a monster for exposing its horrendous nature.

His lips pressed to hers and she giggled against them before pulling him close, pinning him back against the seat as she straddled his lap and kissed him hard.

"All yours," she whispered, sweeping kisses across his jaw, down his neck. "Always."

Something feral had taken over her, something animalistic and needy. She wanted him, wanted to let him fuck her until she couldn't feel anything but his body all around her. And then with that memory fresh in her mind she wanted to watch the whole fucking city burn.

And then maybe fuck him again while it all collapsed around them.

A knock on the door gave her pause, brought back enough sense to her for her to stop trying to unbutton his shirt as Zak opened the back hatch of the SUV.

For a moment the three of them exchanged awkward glances as Harley tried to bury her laughter in J's coat, before Zak eventually coughed politely and looked away. "Boss, I think you're gonna want to come check these charges yourself."

J snorted, but moved Harley from his lap all the same. "C'mon, sugar, let's see how much damage we can do."

This time she had no objection in following. In fact, she wanted to.

\----

A/N: You ever just get so stressed that you finish a chapter of your fanfiction that has been aging like a fine wine in your unfinished drafts for two years? Happened to me.

On that note, hello! I'm so thankful you came back to read this after all this time. I hope you can forgive my absence. I love you and I want to guarantee I am back to finish this fic if it kills me. It will likely still take time, but hey we are getting there.

Quick note, if you like my work enough to pay for it I am currently laid off from my job and I am open for commissions! If you would like to commission me for just about anything (even not H/J related) I am happy to talk it over with you. Message me here or on Tumblr at whysoserioussugar and we can discuss ideas and rates!

Again, thank you so much for sticking around (or for checking out my work if you're new here), and let me just say it feels damn good to be back.


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